


eastbound, homebound.

by rbcch



Series: airline ‘verse [1]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-05-13 09:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 31,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14745951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rbcch/pseuds/rbcch
Summary: Eleven years later she’s here, leading the exact life she was so scared of when she was younger, living the existence she found avoidable and miserable earlier. She doesn’t quite know how it happened. She knows  she’s not miserable, knows she enjoys the journey without the signs of the finish line, enjoys the quick changes in scenery and living out of suitcases far more than she thinks she would enjoy being rooted and trapped in one place, yet the irony of it all isn’t lost on her despite that, and she appreciates it in a way.Or, Violet is homesick, and Pearl deems herself a stopover, not a final destination.In which they are in the business of defying gravity, but they can’t deny attraction between them.





	1. forever red-eyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! I’m not dead, and I’m back with another monstrosity, only this time around it’s chaptered and they’re cisgirls.
> 
> This is an ode to just a few of my favourite things. Airports, the concept of home, girls. You know, the usual.
> 
> If you’ve worked for a commercial airline or at JFK, this will probably be quite painful to read, so I suggest you don’t. The name I use for my, completely made up, btw, airline, NorthWest Air, has nothing to do with an American airline founded in 1926 and absorbed by Delta Air Lines in 2008.
> 
> This gets pretty kinky and angsty at some point but this chapter only includes one (1) explicit vanilla sex scene. I’ll give content warnings as we proceed.

“Ma, sis, what the fuck?” Aja says, lifting her gaze from her computer screen to stare Violet down — an accomplishment, Violet has to give it to her, as she’s sitting behind her desk whereas Violet herself is standing up in front of it — in disbelief.

Violet draws her brow together and pushes her lower lip out in what she knows for a fact will make a pathetic yet endearing and mostly irresistible pout, and bats her lashes. “Okay, hear me out, yeah? I know this is a lot to ask, but I really need this. Aja, _please_.”

“Maaa, are you kidding me?” Aja shrieks again and pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. Violet is not quite sure how she manages without poking her eye out or at least scratching something, because those nails of hers are fast approaching the length that could be considered dangerous. Has she been through security check lately? Violet doubts she has, because there’s no way they’d let her through to the airside with those attached to her.

“Aja, please,” Violet repeats in a whiny tone and clasps her hands together in front of herself in a praying motion, rocking up and down on her tiptoes slightly.

“Oh bitch, send me home,” Aja closes her eyes and pinches harder.

“Two-night layover. It literally couldn’t get better than that,” Violet whines. “I’m not above begging if that’s what you want me to do.”

Aja removes her nails from critical proximity of her eyeballs and resumes her staring Violet down, “Am I going to witness the infamous Violet Chachki drop on her knees to get something?”

“Please please please,” Violet lets out, smiling wistfully, and Aja sighs deeply, turning back to her computer, her nails ghosting above the keyboard now.

“Ima need the details, sis.”

“It’s the flight NW5102 to Madrid, departing on the fourteenth at 7:45 in the evening,” Violet hurries to say without missing a beat. It’s probably embarrassing how well she’s memorised the information, but she’s past the point of pretending to be nonchalant about this anyway, lost that privilege when she came to Aja with this.

Aja just quirks an eyebrow at her enthusiasm and starts typing, her nails clicking against the keys rhythmically. Violet tucks a strand of hair that has escaped her high ponytail behind her ear and looks around Aja’s office while the occupant of said office hums at her computer screen and chews her lip absent-mindedly. It’s a fairly basic office, which kinda seems very un-Aja-like to Violet. It’s mostly dull, mild greys and light blues. The desk takes up a lot of space, but there’s also a bookshelf full of folders and files, and a set of armchairs around a coffee table on Violet’s left, The only abnormality that Violet can really spot is that a large note board behind Aja’s back is full of bows and ribbons. Right there, between printed out emails with colourful markers highlighting the most important dates and bits, notices of new regulations, and meeting schedules and agendas, are pinned bows of all different colours, shapes, and sizes. There’s no real order to them, they seem like they’ve been hung haphazardly wherever they were able to fit, and there must be at least a dozen of them, maybe even more.

She’s just about to start counting them when Aja clears her throat, “I’ll need your I.D. number.”

Violet pushes her hand into her handbag and blindly rummages through it until her fingers brush against a delicate ball chain. She tugs on it and pulls her airport I.D badge out of the bag, handing it to Aja, who studies it for a while.

“Nice photo,” she snorts before grabbing a stack of post-it notes and scribbling down the digits.

“No one looks good in their I.D. photos,” Violet hums.

“I do in mine,” Aja informs her obnoxiously and hands her the badge. “Okay, sis, I’ll see what I can do, but just know that this is quite literally out of any line.”

“Oh my God, you’re the best,” Violet cries out.

“Main cabin, though,” Aja scoffs. “There’s only so much this fairy godmother can do, and besides, Michaels is very pedantic about her crew.”

Violet breaks into a beaming grin, not daring celebrate just yet, but still knowing she’s basically won this one, “Just get me on that plane, I don’t care about the placement.”

Aja just half-scoffs, half-snorts again and goes back to her computer, sparing Violet a dismissive wave of a hand. Violet drops her badge back into the bag and blows Aja a cheeky kiss before skipping to the door across the room, a newly found spring to her step.

“Ma, you know,” Aja calls after her when she reaches the door. “I can put you on her flights all you want, but you might wanna, like, actually do something about this little crush of yours soon. It’s a little sad.”

Violet stops, her fingers loosely hooked on the door handle, and turns back to Aja, “I have no…”

“Idea what I’m talking about? Yeah, right, bitch,” Aja scoffs. “I’m just telling you to level your pussy up.”

“Oh, shush you,” Violet says with a shy smile and slips out of the door before Aja can say anything else.

*

Violet has a full weekend off, a rare occasion for her, and Valentina phones her at least four times trying to persuade Violet to come out with her. She calls Violet a boring pussface when Violet politely declines, but Violet thinks she can live with that title if it means she gets to spend her weekend in bed, dozing off whenever her lids grow too heavy, and watching crappy television between her naps.

She’s scheduled to fly to LAX and back for a whole week after that. The red-eye duty is inhuman at best and excruciatingly brutal at worst, but Violet still prefers it to early morning flights that force her out of bed at the strangest hours and leave a sturdy lump of tiredness in her throat that she can’t seem to quite swallow past. Violet has a system for the red-eye duty, and having systems is one thing she’s genuinely good at. 

She tries to sleep in on Monday, but she’s too well-rested after the weekend she just had, and she barely makes it until nine in the morning before she feels stupid about making herself lie in bed with her eyes closed, pretending to sleep, and gets up. The apartment is already empty by the time she pats into the kitchen, barefoot and a silk robe tied tightly around her petite figure, but someone — likely Shangela — has left just the perfect amount of coffee in the pot for her.

Violet leaves for JFK a little past two to give herself extra time before her shift, and also because she’s ready early and can’t think of a thing to do at the apartment anymore. The flight to LAX leaves at six, and it’s mostly uneventful and calm one, without difficult passengers or shrieking babies, as families with kids usually tend to opt for the earlier LA flights they provide. Kurtis is flying business class, and it’s lovely to see him, as always. Violet manages to steal few moments to chat with him between serving drinks and snacks, and it leaves a warm feeling in her gut, like talking to Kurtis always does.

They arrive at LAX just past nine, a little bit earlier than their scheduled arrival time, and after they’ve seen the passengers out, Violet has a brief moment to sit down and have her dinner: a coffee she gets from one of the numerous coffee shops around the airport and a salad she quickly constructed for herself before leaving for work.

The flight back departures at eleven and is even quieter than the one to LA, with the cabin lights turned down almost completely and most passengers trying to catch even a tiny bit of sleep before they touch down in New York, or silently working on their laptops. Violet gets dragged to the rear end of the cabin by Karl, where Carmen is already unceremoniously sitting on the counter, the tips of her heels placed on the edge of the airline service trolley and her elbows resting on her popped up knees, drinking a can of diet Coke. They gossip in hushed tones, although Violet spends the majority of their little self-proclaimed break listening to their soft murmurs more than participating in them.

It’s closer to ten o’clock when she finally falls into the apartment on the Tuesday morning. She sleeps well into the evening, and it’s already dark outside when she gets up to eat something. Violet contemplates staying awake for a while to sleep in the next morning, but her eyes stay bleary and her body, aching from weariness and hours in heels, craves the warmth of her unmade bed, so she just crashes immediately after dinner.

On the Wednesday morning her work app notifies her there’s a change in her rota, and when she checks it, she finds that yet another week of domestic flights has been changed to a flight to Madrid in a fortnight. Violet dances around the kitchen in nothing but her underwear in triumph until irritated and sleep-deprived Aquaria throws a sweater at her head and tells her to put some goddamn clothes on in an annoyed growl. Violet is mainly just thankful it was a sweater that was sent flying her way, because Aquaria had a mug and a text book in her other hand at the time.

At work some snotty kid pours his orange juice all over Violet’s uniform in his fit of toddler rage, and Violet has to smile at his parents through her desire to strangle the brat. It earns her an upgrade to first class, though, so she can’t really complain even if she suspects Bianca asked Ivy and her to switch places to prevent a possible homicide in the main cabin.

When they land at JFK on the Thursday morning, Violet feels the kind of drained where she’s not as much sleepy as she’s just slow in her reactions and a little bit clumsy. She doesn’t really want to go back to the apartment just yet, because she feels like the walls of the room and the interior of the craft is all she sees whenever she’s on the red-eye duty. Instead she goes to a Starbucks, one that is located on the landside, to get herself a drink and maybe a fruit salad and just sit there for a while.

Dustin looks as tired as she feels, but his smile and his eyes are beaming when he spots her, and he chats to her in a soft voice about everything and nothing in particular while he prepares her order. There’s a messily drawn heart on the sleeve of her paper cup when he hands Violet her venti tea, and it makes her insides clench with affection for him.

She sits at one of the high tables where she has a perfect view of one of the baggage claim exits, and she takes little sips of her tea, still too hot to properly drink, between scrolling through her phone and watching people. Violet has always found airport arrival gates some sort of alternate reality, places that exist outside the realm of normal and familiar. She enjoys drinking it all in. She likes watching business people rush through in their suits and with their phones already on their ear, busy scheduling cars and confirming lunch meetings. She loves spotting tourists, their amazed gazes and loud chatter giving them away as they take in the airport of the city the dreams are made of. But most of all she adores seeing returnees. It’s somehow almost soothing to observe: families, friends, and lovers reuniting, tears of happiness, loud shrieks, dramatic embraces. Violet cherishes watching people return to a place where they’re welcomed, to a place they want to return, to a place where they have someone to come to. It makes the back of her throat itch with a kind of misplaced longing she wants to shove into a box and hide in the farthest corner of her mind never to be found and unboxed again.

At some point a group of American Airlines employees exits the airside. Violet cocks her head to the side and watches them as they go in their perfect formation, pilot and his first officer leading the way, and the breathtakingly beautiful cabin crew following their lead in a neat wedge. They all carry themselves with such grace and pride, their steps firm and their heads held high confidently, their lips curving in blinding smiles, and for a little moment Violet is hypnotised, completely enchanted by these unreal creatures that look like they belong on silver screen more than they belong here, where everything is mundane.

She remembers being younger, how she used to stare at stewardesses and stewards in awe whenever she was going on a family holiday with her parents. She remembers how fascinated she was by their beauty and posture, the air around them, as if they were ethereal and otherworldly.

“They’re quite beautiful, aren’t they?” she remembers her mother saying once.

“The prettiest,” she had agreed with a serious expression.

“It’s almost like they’re not even plain human beings, right? Like they’re some kind of demigods, made to inhabit the skies instead of staying on the ground. God, what a fabulous job that must be indeed.”

“I think it’s a little sad, in a way.” Violet had said quietly.

Her mother had studied her, the look in her golden eyes warm and sharp, “Why’s that?”

“I mean,” Violet had stuttered. “You’re always on the go, always flying somewhere, always packed and ready to leave. Never quite settling anywhere, never staying for too long. It must get lonely, I’d imagine. It’s a scary way of existing, always in between, never quite at your final destination.”

“Hmm,” her mother had contemplated. “I guess you’re right about that.”

When the crew has walked past Violet, she drops her eyes down at her lap where she’s fisting the fabric of her own uniform as if to make sure it’s still there and she didn’t just imagine it in a long and very detailed fever dream. Hers is almost identical to theirs, the only real difference being that hers is light grey with lime accents whereas theirs is dark blue. Eleven years later she’s here, leading the exact life she was so scared of when she was younger, living the existence she found avoidable and miserable earlier. She doesn’t quite know how it happened. She knows she’s not miserable, knows she enjoys the journey without the signs of the finish line, enjoys the quick changes in scenery and living out of suitcases far more than she thinks she would enjoy being rooted and trapped in one place, yet the irony of it all isn’t lost on her despite that, and she appreciates it in a way.

She happens across a post from one of her childhood friends on one of her social media platforms, a photo of her newborn baby, and it leaves Violet’s chest feel hollow in an unsettling way. She thinks of her old town, of her life before New York, which she rarely does if she’s being honest. Reminders like this make her wonder if this is what her life would be had she not left, if this is the way she should have ended up all along, with a husband and a third kid on the way and a house with a beautiful lawn and a swing set in the backyard. She wonders if she upset some kind of balance, her fate or purpose in this life by leaving. She wonders if she should feel lucky she got away, or if she should feel guilty about it. She feels neither. Instead there’s a certain feeling of uneasiness that dwells in the pit of her stomach, making it impossible for her to stay still, triggering a familiar wave of desire to run, to flee, to keep moving, so she does, locks her phone and pushes it deep in her bag and leaves, because she’s lost any sense of how to stay,

The Airtrain is full of tourists with their enormous suitcases and widened eyes, like it always is. Violet can’t afford taking the cab to work and back every day, and she sees no point in keeping a car in the city, so she’s stuck on the trains for a couple hours each day. It’s not really that bad once you get used to it, and it’s the kind of a sensible choice her father always taught her to make that allows her to have a few extra luxuries she wouldn’t otherwise be able to afford.

She adjusts her long raincoat to sit tighter around her frame — it was drizzling when she left the apartment on Wednesday — and puts some Led Zeppelin on through her headphones. She spends the rest of the ride listening to it a tad too loud and staring out of the window, incapable of really concentrating her gaze on anything, trying her best not to fall asleep despite the lull of the smoothly moving carriage.

She gets out at Sutphin Boulevard Station and catches the E line from there, feeling relieved that she’s so close to her own bed now. 

The apartment is eerily quiet when she closes the front door behind herself, and, having assumed that everyone’s gone, she’s surprised when she finds Shangela sitting on the couch in their living room, feet popped on the coffee table in front of her. She’s got a towel wrapped around her head like a turban, and she’s wearing a bathrobe and nursing a bowl of popcorn in her lap. The curtains on the window are closed and the TV is softly playing something she seems invested in. She tears her eyes off the screen when she hears Violet entering the room, and scans her from head to toe.

“You look like shit,” she finally says as a way of greeting and goes back to her program.

“Well that makes my visual appearance the perfect representation of my inner state,” Violet informs her and drops her handbag on the floor.

Shangela snorts in response and outstretches an arm without lifting her stare from the screen again. Violet wobbles toward the couch and flops on it, accepting the invitation the gesture holds and nuzzling very close to her side. Shangela offers her the bowl, but Violet just buries her face in the soft lapel of Shangela’s robe and shakes her head. She feels the other shrug and shove a fistful of popcorn in her own mouth.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Violet asks, her speech muffled by the fabric of the robe slightly.

“It’s a work from home day,” Shangela says through another mouthful of popcorn.

“Which is why you’re watching telly with a towel on your head at noon, obviously.” Violet says.

“Don’t be a little shit, Violet,” Shangela hums and pinches Violet’s side lightly. “Do you see me coming to your work place to make snarky comments about your doing your job?”

“You wish you could afford flying me anywhere, bitch,” Violet says and Shangela pinches her again with a scandalised gasp, even though they both know the statement was a lighthearted joke and holds no truth to it.

Violet has to remove her face from Shangela’s robe then because she feels a little short of oxygen, and she turns her head to watch the television instead. Shangela keeps humming something under her breath, her one hand still in her bowl, and the fingers of her other one stroking Violet’s upper arm absent-mindedly. She does it a lot, and Violet isn’t even sure it’s conscious at this point anymore, but she does. It’s never anything big, just a brush of fingers against Violet’s cheek, or a reassuring palm on the small of her back, or fingers gently twisting the fabric of her shirt whenever they’re cuddled up like this, small fleeing touches, but they mean measures, they hold so much more weight and significance to them.

“Really Shangie? _The Magicians_?” Violet scoffs when she realises what Shangela is watching so intensely. “You really out here single-handedly keeping HBO relevant, aren’t you?”

“I have to keep myself occupied through this Game of Thrones drought.” Shangela states.

Violet tries to giggle, but it’s interrupted by a yawn that she can’t stifle. She rests her head against Shangela’s’ chest, feeling too tired to stay upright anymore, and Shangela tightens her grip around Violet.

“Tired?” she asks gently.

“Mm-hmm,” Violet lets out.

“You should nap, I still have three more episodes to go anyway,” Shangela muses.

Violet closes her eyes and basks in the warmth radiating from Shangela’s body and the faint smell of her body wash and moisturiser as she drifts. At some point she can feel another set of hands on her, carefully taking off her heels and then removing the silk scarf she wears as a part of her uniform from around her neck.

“Are you done for today?” she hears Shangela whisper.

“Yeah, I only have one class on Thursdays,” Aquaria says, trying to keep her voice equally low. “I’m off to work in, like, an hour.”

Violet feels another warm body pressing up against her, and then, just a tiny beat later, an arm snaking around her waist and lips pressing against the back of her head.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready in that case?” Shangela asks.

“I don’t get ready, I stay ready. Now let me enjoy a moment of cuddling with my roommates,” Aquaria says into Violet’s hair.

And that’s how Violet falls unconscious, sandwiched between her girls, who hold her and converse in a hushed murmur so to not disturb her, and it feels safe and nice and almost like something she can’t quite put her finger to, can’t quite name, but she knows it is right and good and she really, really loves it.

*

By Friday fatigue has settled in Violet’s bones, lingering like phantom pain from an old injury, never quite there, never quite gone, and ever so permanent.

Kurtis catches the red-eye back to New York and he tells her about his makeup project he was visiting LA for in a low whisper while she’s not busy attending to other passengers. He offers her a ride to Manhattan in his cab after they’ve landed, and she’s too exhausted to do anything but gratefully accept.

She’s scheduled for Canada, Chicago, and Argentina the following week. She stocks up on candy that Aquaria swears she doesn’t even like but that still somehow mysteriously disappears from their kitchen cupboard each time in Toronto, and brings too packs of Shangela’s favourite coffee and a bottle of wine from Buenos Aires.

The first half of the week after that is spent between Boston and NewYork. On her days off Violet tries to pack for Spain, but she mainly manages to throw things into her open suitcase at random and then ends up taking them out anyway because she’s not happy with any of her outfit options. She hasn’t felt this stressed about packing in months, has done this frequently enough to have developed a routine and a skill to load her bags efficiently and neatly in less than twenty minutes.

She’s a steadily accumulating bundle of nerves and anticipation, and she can barely sleep before Thursday, tossing around and waking up all through the night. She gets up feeling all fidgety and high-strung,, not sure if she’s more terrified or excited, and she showers and does her makeup before opting for the kitchen.

Aquaria is there, puckering her lips at her iPhone camera when Violet enters the room.

“Shooting new promo material?” Violet asks her, stopping next to Aquaria and reaching past her into a fruit bowl for an apple. “Pout that lip a bit more so it’ll be believable.”

“Fuck off and move, please, you’re blocking the light,” Aquaria sighs.

Something in Aquaria’s makeup catches Violet’s attention then, and instead of listening to her and moving away, Violet grabs her chin and forces her to turn her head to examine her face.

“Is that… Did you draw freckles on your face, Aqua?” she says gaping at Aquaria in disbelief.

Aquaria scowls and escapes Violet’s hold, swatting her away in annoyance. Violet laughs at her and heads for the fridge to get a bottle of coconut water and sit on one of the barstools they have at their kitchen isle.

“What’s with all the noise?” Shangela asks, appearing in the doorway..

“Violet is a shady bitch,” Aquaria says in a whiny tone.

“Aquaria is using freckles to advertise botox,” Violet says happily.

“For the last time, Vi, I’m not advertising botox on Instagram,” Aquaria hisses.

“Come on, kids, act nice,” Shangela says and busies herself with the coffeemaker.

Aquaria locks her phone with another deep sigh and flips her blonde hair over her shoulder, making her way to the isle and taking a seat next to Violet. She pinches Violet’s arm and Violet swallows the surprised wince that threatens to escape her lips and kicks Aquaria’s shin in response instead. Shangela informs them she can hear them and they’d better stop before Aquaria can strike back, so they compose themselves. Shangela joins them soon after, taking a stool opposite them and sliding two coffee mugs toward them across the isle.

“Why are you so chipper, Violet?” she asks after examining Violet with suspicion in her expression.

“No reason,” Violet hurries to say.

“There’s always a reason with you,” Shangela notes.

“It’s nothing,” Violet says. “It’s just a Pearl flight today.”

“Ooh,” Shangela says.

“That explains your makeup,” Aquaria says.

Violet snaps her head around and squints at Aquaria. “What is that supposed to mean?” she queries.

“It means that you look very nice today,” Shangela interrupts before Aquaria can say anything. 

And okay, maybe Violet did spend a little bit longer on her face than usually, and maybe she was being a little bit more careful when applying her makeup, but surely it wasn’t that noticeable? After all, looking presentable at all times was a part of her job description.

“It’s my job to look nice,” she tells them.

Aquaria snickers into her mug at that, and Shangela shoots her a warning look before turning back to Violet, “So, finally a Pearl flight, huh?”

“Can you finally bang her, confess your undying love for her and stop your pathetic pining?” Aquaria asks. It’s Shangela’s turn to hide her smile in her cup.

“Okay, first of all,” Violet says. “I am not pining.”

Aquaria rolls her eyes theatrically and Shangela looks like she’s going through a lot of trouble to conceal her amusement.

“And second of all, I’m not in love with her and I don’t want to bang her, I just want to get to know her,” Violet concludes.

Aquaria opens her mouth to undoubtedly let out yet another snarky comment, but Shangela intervenes once again, “Where are you flying to, anyway and when are you back?”

“Spain, will be back on Sunday.”

“Ooh,” Shangela says again. “Can you bring those fancy European chocolates that I like?”

After that the girls drop the Pearl subject, the conversation drifting to their favourite souvenirs Violet has brought them, and then to deliberation on what they should cook for dinner that night. Aquaria finishes her coffee first and slides to her feet a little bit later.

“Gotta go, need to return some books to the library before my class,” she says and turns to Violet. “Have fun and just talk to her, yeah?”

Violet nods weakly and Aquaria pecks the air next to Violet’s cheek, careful not to smudge either of their makeup, before dropping her cup in the sink and rushing off.

“Nervous?” Shangela asks gently.

“Terrified,” Violet breathes out.

“I think you should listen to Aquaria,” Shangela says with an understanding smile. “Not the _bang her and confess your love_ part, that’s probably not a good idea. The _talk to her_ part. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

Violet connects her face with the cool surface of the isle and bangs her forehead against it a couple times for emphasis, “She’s just _so hot_ and she probably doesn’t even know I exist and I’m going to make a fool out of myself in front of her for sure.”

“Young lady,” Shangela chuckles. “You’re smitten, it’s cute.”

“It’s horrible,” Violet moans. “I hate this.”

Shangela lets out a noncommittal noise, like she’s acknowledging Violet’s words but she isn’t exactly convinced by them.

“I do want to bang her,” Violet whines.

“I know, baby,” Shangela says and Violet hears her get up and move around the kitchen. Violet lifts her head, resting her elbows on the isle and leaning her chin on her hands with a slight sulk.

“I got to get going, too,” Shangela says. “But you’ll be fine. Stop being such a useless lesbian and talk to her, she most likely thinks you’re hot too.”

She circles the isle and envelops Violet in a huge hug. Violet leans into her, hooking her chin on Shangela’s shoulder and Shangela rubs her bag soothingly.

“Love you, baby, see you Sunday, yeah?”

“Love you, too,” Violet says and squeezes Shangela tight.

Shangela calls her goodbyes from the front door, and Violet is left alone in the serenity of their empty and quiet apartment. She finishes her breakfast and loads the dishwasher before heading back to her room to get ready. She straightens her bangs but leaves the rest of her hair curly prior to twisting it into a neat updo, leaving a lock to frame her face on either side, and then she packs the remain of her luggage, assuring herself that it is absolutely necessary to bring three dresses for two nights in Madrid, and she’s _definitely_ not overdoing it.

She has a quick, light lunch, enough to give her energy but not make her tired, and then she touches up her makeup one last time, before slipping into her uniform, a light grey knee-length pencil skirt and a matching blazer over a plain white blouse. The look is completed by a pair of black pumps and a grey and lime silk scarf tied around her neck. She doesn’t feel like parading around in her little stewardess hat, so she makes sure to put it in her luggage, and then she shakes her nerves off and heads for JFK.

*

Violet has enough spare time before the pre-flight safety briefing to get herself a coffee from Starbucks. She doesn’t recognise the girl behind the register, and the poor thing looks somewhat timid and confused when Violet places her order. Violet has to walk her through the codes she’s supposed to write in little boxes on the cup, and the girl still manages to spell her name as ‘Viola’. However, Dustin is manning the hot beverage station, and they catch up after he’s managed to suppress his chuckles about her new name.

She’s walking down the corridor in their company office complex, headed toward one of the meeting rooms when she runs into Farrah. The blonde exits one of the offices looking slightly bewildered and dishevelled, and Violet has to do a double take because she’s fairly certain the door Farrah just stumbled through leads to Aja’s office. Farrah pulls at the hem of her uniform blazer, trying to smooth the fabric that has rolled up considerably before spotting the approaching Violet and waving at her excitedly.

“Oh, hey, Violet,” she says, and her voice sounds uncharacteristically thick and low. “Are you on your way to the briefing?”

“Uh-huh,” Violet reaches Farrah who’s trying to fix her lopsided ponytail now. “You’re scheduled for Spain as well?”

“Am, too! I was so excited when I heard you’re coming with us,” Farrah squeaks and abandons her attempts at fixing her hairdo, grabbing the handle of her suitcase, “Finally, we haven’t flown together in forever, let’s go.”

Farrah starts down the hallway, her heels clicking against the floor and the wheels of her luggage rolling smoothly and silently, and Violet follows her. She glances at the tag next to the door as she passes it, and she frowns at the neat Aja Storms printed on it, but Farrah begins chatting to her happily before Violet can react or ask, so she shrugs it off.

There’s a young woman already sitting at the table when they enter the meeting room, and Violet doesn’t think she’s ever seen her before, They must be familiar with Farrah, though, because the woman jumps up when she spots them, and Farrah rushes to embrace her with another excited squeal.

“Have you two met yet?” Farrah turns to Violet once the two of them are done shrieking, clapping, and complimenting each other, and Violet shakes her head, shooting the girl a small smile. 

“Oh, Violet, this is Blair,” Farrah introduces. “Blair, meet Violet.”

Violet extends her arm for a handshake, but Blair goes for a hug, surrounding Violet with a cloud of her sweet perfume and kissing the air next to Violet’s cheeks. Violet rests her palms on Blair’s waist in surprise and mimics her declaration of how nice it is to meet. There’s something extremely dainty and delicate about Blair, and her whole appearance, starting with the way she’s done her reddish brown hair up and her immaculate makeup and ending at the tips of her classic black heels screams old-fashioned glamour, the sort of dream stewardesses in the 50’s and 60’s embodied and represented.

In the meantime Farrah takes a place at the table and starts blabbering again, rapidly changing topic from regret she didn’t get herself a coffee (pointed at the cup in Violet’s hand) to her delay in Seattle last week (pointed at no one in particular) to what reports predicted the weather in Madrid to be like during their layover (pointed at Violet and Blair most likely). The girls take their seats and Violet finds that much like herself, Blair is more of a listener, engaging in Farrah’s stories by nodding and giggling in all the right places and contributing a comment when the situation asks for it, but never interrupting or demanding attention.

Farrah is halfway through her fifth story when the door to the room opens. The sound makes Violet turn her head in the direction of its source and she instantly recognises the pair that walks in, she’s worked with both of them occasionally. The taller of the two, Kameron, is attired in a company-provided pilot’s uniform, the five stars on the shoulder pieces of her jacket conveying her captainship. Her blonde hair is let loose underneath her pilot’s hat, falling down her chest and back in luscious waves, and she’s resting her palm on the small of the back of a shorter woman beside her. The shortie, Brianna, is wearing a uniform identical to Violet’s, and her platinum mane is in a neat crown braid. She’s clutching an iPad against her chest, her gaze firmly on Kameron as she laughs at something the other must have said just before they walked through the door.

They step farther into the room and Brianna shakes her head, the remains of laughter still evident in the way her eyes crinkle a little. She tears her stare from Kameron and regards the girls around the table, smiling at them and sidestepping away from the pilot. Kameron lets her hand fall to her side, but not before she’s given Brianna’s elbow a brief squeeze.

As they both move aside, Brianna taking her place at the head of the table and Kameron opting for a seat next to Blair, Violet’s gaze lands on a person crossing the threshold behind the two of them. She looks amused, the corner of her mouth quirking into an attractive half smile, and Violet’s knees definitely don’t buckle, because she’s sitting and also because that reaction would be completely ridiculous.

Pearl is dressed in a uniform similar to Kameron’s, but she’s holding her hat in her hand instead of wearing it. Her jaw-length bob is slicked back with product on one side, revealing her exquisite bone structure, and she’s heavy-lidded, but she doesn’t look disinterested or unimpressed as much as she does sultry. Her eyes scan the room, and when her glance stops on Violet, nothing in her demeanour changes at all, but it is as if it lingers on her longer than anyone else. They hold each other’s gazes, and Violet feels her heart in her throat, and she’s not sure she could look away even if she wanted. Pearl breaks the contact before it becomes awkward, though, and heads for the chair next to Farrah, who instantly reaches out her hand to rub Pearl’s bicep. Pearl moves her own arm, and Violet can’t see it, but she’s fairly certain Pearl rests her palm on Farrah’s thigh under the table.

“Okay, great, I think everyone’s here,” Brianna speaks, and that finally snaps Violet out of it. “There’s been some last minute problems with rota, but luckily Violet was able to step in. It’s nice to have you join us today, Violet, welcome on the team.”

Violet tries to force a smile, but she suspects her expression resembles a grimace more. She doesn’t know what kind of story Aja had to spin in order to get Violet on this flight, but she is very grateful she had been discreet about it nonetheless.

“I will be your chief purser tonight on our flight to Madrid,” Brianna continues, unlocking her iPad. “Okay, let’s see. Our craft is a 763-Boeing 767. Farrah, business class, unsurprisingly. It looks like we’re fully booked today, so Blair, I would like you to help Farrah with pre-takeoff servings and then join Violet and I in the main cabin as soon as it looks like Farrah can manage on her own. Do you think that’s okay with you?”

“Sure, sounds good, Cracks,” Blair says with a smile, and Violet blinks at her nickname of choice.

“Splendid, that leaves Violet and I in the main cabin. Violet, can you take the rear half of the cabin from the wing down? And make sure the passengers in the emergency exit rows are eligible and willing, yeah?”

Violet nods and Brianna gives her a quick thumbs-up before turning her attention to the iPad screen again.

“Farrah, don’t forget to check life-vests in business, and I think it’ll be quicker if Blair, Violet, and I monitor the main cabin together. Who would be so kind as to check firefighting equipment and torches?”

“Pearl and I can do that on our way to the cockpit,” Kameron says before anyone else can react.

“You sure, baby?” Brianna asks. “I know you’ve got your technical checks to do.”

“Yeah, it’s fine. It’s not like Liaison ever pays attention to anything that goes down in the cockpit so she might as well make herself useful someplace else,” Kameron jokes.

Pearl pulls a face at her and flashes her middle finger in Kameron’s direction, “Fuck right off, Michaels.”

Kameron just laughs and Brianna rolls her eyes with a little head shake, but there’s a tiny smile playing on her lips before she composes herself.

“Okay, great, thank you. There’s no kids travelling alone nor special needs customers, but we do have a cello in the seat 22B. Those are always fun. Okay, moving on to the weather conditions…”

As Brianna continues down her checklist in high tempo, Violet lets her concentration falter a little and ends up studying the women around the table. Blair is sat right next to Violet, her delicate, and perfectly manicured hands resting in her lap, and she is bemusedly fiddling with a ring on her index finger while she focuses on Brianna, nodding along to the purser’s words every now and then.

Kameron is next to Blair. She’s taken her pilot’s hat off, and she’s leaning her elbows on the table, her fingers interlaced. Violet studies the tattoos on the back of her palms with interest. She’s not sure if, unlike cabin crew members, pilots are allowed visible tattoos, or if Kameron was just too good of an employee not to make an exception for. Kameron’s stare is fixed on Brianna, too, but she’s looking at her like Brianna is the reason stars shine every night and the sun rises every morning, and Violet thinks she’s rarely witnessed such fondness and affection on someone’s face.

Farrah is sitting on the opposite side of the table, perked up and looking enthusiastic and delighted to be here. Her hands are in her lap under the desk, too, and it seems as if she’s holding Pearl’s palm. Her ponytail is still a mess, way too loose and with strands of hair escaped it, but she does look considerably more collected than she did when Violet found her.

Pearl is relaxed against the backrest of her chair, and her eyes wander more than they stay on Brianna. She’s leaning into Farrah just the tiniest bit, not enough for their shoulders to brush, but definitely enough for the way she’s crooking her upper body to be noticeable, and Violet can’t help but wonder about the nature of their relationship. They do indeed seem very familiar, and there’s a certain level of comfort present in their body language, their personal spaces lacking boundaries between them.

As if sensing that she’s being watched, Pearl turns her head in Violet’s direction and their gazes lock again. For a very long second she just studies Violet through her long lashes with playful contemplation, and then her lips stretch into a lazy grin. It makes Violet look away rapidly, and she bites down on the inside of her cheek, feeling equal parts flustered and stupid about it.

Meanwhile Brianna reaches the end of her list. She locks her iPad and rests it under her arm, eying her crew with an encouraging smile, “Alright, I think that’s all, we are all set and ready to go unless someone has anything to add or ask? Oh, no, actually, one more thing. Farrah, how do we not deal with passengers visibly afraid of flying?”

Farrah purses her lips into a thin line and narrows her eyes at Brianna before she replies, articulating words slowly and carefully, “We do not tell them that if the plane goes down and we all die, it’s whatever, girl.”

“Because why?” Brianna prompts.

“Because that could be considered morbid humour that not everyone will understand, appreciate, or find helpful in this situation,” Farrah recites in monotone, like she’s heard the line so many times that she’s learned it by heart despite herself.

“Good,” Brianna sighs. “Now we’re ready to go.”

The air fills with chatter and the noise of chairs being dragged against the floor and luggage being moved as they all get up and ready themselves to leave the room. Blair is telling Kameron something in a lively manner and Kameron keeps snorting at her story. Brianna points at Farrah’s hair with an exasperated sigh and Farrah shoots her a sheepish grin, which makes Pearl next to her laugh and elbow her side teasingly. Violet chooses that moment to finally pin her little hat in, and Blair makes sure it’s straight and securely in place without Violet having to ask her to, so she does the same for Blair and offers her a tiny grateful smile which Blair returns immediately.

The boarding is pretty smooth and uneventful. The guy travelling with the cello is a prick who lets everyone know how expensive his instrument is and how he needs them to be extremely careful with it. Luckily for all parties included, Brianna handles the situation with a pleasant smile and endless patience, and Violet is impressed, because just hearing the guy’s voice made her want to smash his head in. However, when she walks past the row the cello’s in, she notices that Brianna used way more seatbelts than was strictly necessary to keep the instrument fixed, and she has to admit she admires Brianna’s level of passive-aggressive pettiness.

When they’re done, Brianna calls the cockpit to inform Kameron and Pearl the boarding’s completed. Kameron’s joyful voice fills the cabin through the speaker system not a minute later, and it’s clear she’s smiling as she speaks.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain Kameron Michaels. On behalf of my crew I would like to welcome you aboard this NorthWest Air flight to Madrid. We are estimated to arrive at Adolfo Suaárez Madrid-Barajas at quarter past nine in the morning. Weather conditions are looking optimal. The crew is here for your safety and comfort, and in a minute they will perform a safety demonstration that passengers are kindly advised to pay close attention to. Thank you for flying NorthWest Air, I wish you a pleasant journey.”

Violet moves through the safety demonstration and securing the cabin on autopilot, and before she knows it, she’s in her jumpseat, readying herself for takeoff. As the change in altitudes causes the air pressure within the cabin to shift, Violet feels familiar nasty barotrauma in her ears, and she keeps swallowing to make them pop until the craft is fully in the air and bound for Spain.

*

They reach Madrid almost forty minutes before their estimated arrival time, and Kameron has to circle the airport for a while until they’re granted permission to land. Violet is impressed by how smoothly they touch down, without any noticeable bumping or jolting, and she has to admit it’s been a while since she’s flown with a pilot that capable.

Outside the airport building, the air feels warm and gentle against Violet’s skin despite it being a fairly early morning in mid-September. They locate a taxi stand and wait for a large capacity vehicle that can fit all of them and their luggage. Pearl disappears to a nearby smoking area, waving her pack of Marlboro Lights in the air and leaving her suitcase with them.

Brianna has managed to snatch Kameron’s pilot’s hat off her head and is now wearing it, although it’s slightly too big for her and she has to keep readjusting it as it threatens to slip down on her face and cover her eyes. The two of them are standing a few feet away from the rest of the crew, facing each other, and Kameron has one of her arms snaked around Brianna, her palm resting flat somewhere between the small of Brianna’s back and the curve of her bum. Their height difference is very apparent right now, and it’s also remarkable despite extra inches Brianna’s heels gain her. She gets on her tiptoes and puts one hand on Kameron’s shoulder to steady herself, her other one still holding the hat to keep it out of her face. Kameron says something. quietly enough so that no one else can hear them, and Brianna chuckles before closing the remaining distance between them and placing her lips upon Kameron’s. They seem so engrossed in each other and their kiss that Violet feels like she’s witnessing an insanely intimate moment that she shouldn’t be a part of, so she hurries to cast her eyes down, examining the pavement under her feet instead.

They pile into the car when a suitable one finally appears. Farrah gets in the front seat and tells the driver where they’re headed in Spanish.

“I didn’t know you speak Spanish, Farrah,” Violet notes from her place next to Brianna in the back.

“Oh, I don’t,” Farrah says, peeking at Violet from behind the headrest of her seat. “Aja does.”

It is such an absurdly obscure comment to make in a situation like this one, but no one else in the car bats an eye at Farrah’s words, so Violet decides it’s not her place to question it, either.

Their driver starts driving after confirming something with Farrah, and the vehicle quickly fills with animated chatter.

“So what are we doing tonight? Dinner?” Blair asks loudly, an indication that her question was meant for everyone. She’s sitting on a jumpseat opposite Violet, facing away from traffic, and Kameron is occupying a seat next to her.

“I need a drink. A lot of drinks, preferably,” Kameron says.

“Ooh, can we go to that one club we visited last time we were here?” Blair lights up. “Farrah?”

“Yeah, I’m trying to check their Facebook events as we speak, but this Wi-Fi connection is tragic,” Farrah hums without turning her head.

“What place are we talking about?” Brianna asks.

“The one where Pearl got spectacularly drunk and spent ten minutes chatting up a potted plant out in the smoking area, trying to convince it to come home with her,” Farrah deadpans into her phone screen.

“Oh God, that one,” Brianna snorts. “It was a good night.”

“You guys really can’t let that one go, huh?” Pearl drawls out, her voice sounding mildly amused and not at all ashamed or apologetic.

“Well, technically we can, but we aren’t planning to,” Kameron says.

“You’re coming out with us, right?” Farrah asks, finally turning around to look at Violet.

The sudden attention catches her off guard and she struggles to find her voice. Pearl leans forward to look at her past Brianna who’s sitting between them, “She is, aren’t you, Violet?”

“Um,” Violet lets out finally. “Yeah, I s’ppose.”

“Fun,” Blair claps her hands excitedly. “So what time are we heading out?”

“I think we should have that dinner beforehand,” Brianna says.

“There’s a deli next to our hotel, just get something from there,” Farrah shrugs.

“You know, this is why you always end up passing out halfway through the night, Farrah,” Kameron chuckles. “Who thinks that deli food would be enough before a night out?”

Violet zones out after that, letting their planning and friendly bickering become no more than a background buzz and staring blankly out of the window at the passing landscape that slurs into an unclear mess. She’s having trouble making sense of their dynamic, and the only thing she knows for sure is that it’s a very extraordinary one. It’s clear that they’ve all worked together a lot, but it goes past that, goes past the common air of familiarity and silent mutual understanding that Violet became very accustomed to soon after joining the industry. It was evident in the meeting room, and it only kept turning out to be more and more fascinating the more Violet got to observe them. The way they worked and interacted and fitted together, it was like watching parts of a very well-oiled machine move together seamlessly and effortlessly. However, their closeness wasn’t off-putting or exclusive. Admittedly, Violet felt like an outcast rather than a participant, but it had nothing to do with there efforts to let her in and everything to do with her preference to be left out.

*

Madrid is pulsing. She’s bright and loud, her streets full of people, and she’s hot hot hot, the kind of dry heat that is present in the atmosphere even after the sun sets.

The club is pulsing, too. It’s pulsing around Violet, and on her skin, and under it. She’s already tipsy, drunk enough to recognise that but sober enough to want more.

They shared a bottle of wine with Farrah when they were getting ready together earlier, and she can feel it tingling in the back of her head, relaxing her and making her lids heavier and her tongue lighter, looser. Now Farrah is pulling her by her wrist, pushing through a crowded space toward the bar.

They reach the counter and Violet’s eyes are instantly drawn to Brianna and Blair on the dance floor. She leans on the counter sideways and watches them while Farrah steps on a rail circling the bottom of the counter and waits for a member of staff to take their order. Brianna and Blair are turning the party like Violet has never seen anyone turn it before,, and the pure joy that they radiate is contagious to look at. Blair manages to look elegant and sophisticated even when she moves to the beat of some techno song, and Brianna’s movements are wild and outrageously ridiculous, but they’re still somehow so right it makes Violet laugh out loud.

“Oh my God,” she says, more to herself than anyone else, but Farrah still hears her over the music.

“What?” Farrah says handing Violet a colourful cocktail and following her gaze. “Oh, you spotted Crack and Blair.”

“They look like they’re having fun,” Violet giggles and takes a sip of her drink. It’s overly sweet, exactly something one would imagine Farrah to order.

“Yeah, you couldn’t tell by seeing Brianna at work, because, you know, she’s all professional and shit, but she really knows how to bring it. We actually call her Barbie on bath salts. Oh my God, so it was mine and Pearl’s birthday this week’s Monday, and we happened to be in Bu for that, so Kameron and Brianna took us out and they completely just partied us under the table. You should’ve seen it, it was hysterical. I fell asleep at our table and Pearl had to be carried to the hotel. Speaking of, where is that other Michaels? I hope she’s had her pre-party coffee, it makes her go absolutely crazy.”

“The other Michaels?” Violet questions with a slight frown.

“Oh, you didn’t know? Brianna and Kameron got married, like, six months ago,” Farrah sighs and smiles dreamily around her straw. “We honestly thought that wedding would never happen. It was such a beautiful little ceremony,, and I gotta admit we all sighed with relief when they exchanged their vows.”

“You all seem very close,” Violet notes.

“We are,” Farrah nods solemnly. “Or, you know me, I’m friends with everyone who wants to be friends with me, really. Blair is from the newest patch of girls and Crack kinda took her under her wing straight away, so we all ended up adopting her. She’s such a sweetheart, I love her. And Pearl… Pearl is actually right there.”

Violet turns to look and her breath catches in her throat pathetically, It looks like they’re returning from having a smoke, and although Kameron is walking a step or so ahead, Pearl is all Violet can concentrate on. Her hair is done differently from earlier, framing her face in large puffy curls, and Violet resents herself for wanting to thread her fingers through it. Pearl wears a flowing, pastel pink skirt that almost reaches the tips of her stilettos, and a white bustier. Violet has never seen her out of her uniform, and she’s surprised to notice that one of Pearl’s biceps, not as muscular as Kameron’s, but definitely toned, is covered in tattoos. It suits her, slightly faded ink looking good against her skin tone, and Violet feels a tiny bit weak, but that’s probably because she’s almost done with her drink, and _definitely_ not because of Pearl.

Kameron spots the two of them and heads toward the counter, Pearl trails behind her, her movements relaxed and almost lackadaisical, a striking contrast to Kameron’s energetic posture.

“Bitch, finally, what took you two so long?” Kameron shouts.

“We had a little outfit crisis,” Farrah shouts back,

What she means is Violet had an outfit crisis, She had laid her dresses out on her bed and had been standing in front of it, staring at them and biting her lip indecisively until Farrah had grown exasperated and made the choice for her, ushering her to get changed. Violet is very grateful Farrah doesn’t elaborate on this minor detail, though.

“Well, you look very nice,” Pearl says, drawing out her words like she tends to and scanning Violet from head to toe. She turns to Farrah then and adds, “Both of you.”

“Shots,” Kameron drums the countertop impatiently. “We need shots:”

She orders four of them and distributes them, gulping hers quickly and motioning for the bartender to give them another round. Violet rests her almost finished cocktail on the counter and takes the shot glass offered to her, but doesn’t hurry to drink it just yet. Instead she watches Pearl as she brings her own shot up to her full lips and parts them slightly before tilting her head back and calmly pouring the alcohol down her throat. There’s a single drop of sweat rolling down Pearl’s neck, and Violets eyes involuntarily follow it as it slides down Pearl’s collarbone and chest and disappears between her breasts.

Pearl puts her empty glass back on the bar and smirks at Violet knowingly, which is exactly when Violet realises she’s staring with her mouth agape. She feels it go very dry suddenly, so she knocks her own vodka down in an attempt to salvage even a tiny bit of her dignity. It burns her throat on its way down, tasting like hand sanitiser and that one time when Valentina got her very drunk and she ended up throwing her guts up for the rest of the night.

“Alright, where’s my wife?” Kameron shouts. “I wanna dance with her. Let’s go.”

“We’ll be just a second,” Farrah says, motioning at the cocktail she’s still nursing. “You guys go ahead.”

Kameron needn’t be told twice. She grabs Pearl’s shoulder and Pearl wraps her arm around Kameron’s middle swiftly. As they walk away, she turns to shoot Violet another flirty look, and Violet feels her cheeks and chest blush at that.

“So Pearl was eyeing you up, huh?” Farrah’s voice breaks Violet out of her haze.

“What?” she shrieks. “What, no, she wasn’t, what are you even saying?”

“I’m saying that you could have a lot of fun tonight,” Farrah shrugs like what she’s saying is obvious.

“I…” Violet stutters.I… I don’t think… She’s not… I’m… Not like _that_ , I don’t think so.”

“Listen, Violet, I know Pearl, and I know what she looks like when she wants something,” Farrah says matter-of-factly. “And that? She’s _craving_ it.”

“Wait, aren’t you two, like… a thing?” 

Farrah stares at Violet blankly for a while, clearly letting Violet’s words sink in, and when they finally do, she bursts into loud, disbelieving laughter.

“What? Pearl and I? Oh my God, this is the best thing I’ve heard all week,” she manages to let out.

It’sViolet’s turn to shrug, although she does it sheepishly rather than nonchalantly, “I thought, I don’t know, you two seem so close and comfortable so I assumed that maybe you’re dating or hooking up or something.”

“We’re really not, don’t worry,” Farrah chuckles, swiping invisible tears from the corners of her eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths to calm down from her laughing fit.

Violet lets her gaze wander around the club, locating the rest of their group and lingering on them thoughtfully. She’s had this silly crush on Pearl for about half a century now, but she never even considered the possibility of Pearl having ever paid her any mind, let alone finding her interesting in the slightest. It doesn’t seem like Farrah is joking, though; it actually seems like she’s serious, convinced in correctness of her words.

“You really think she could be, like, maybe interested or something?” she asks Farrah, turning back to her and teasing her lip between her teeth hesitantly.

Farrah rolls her eyes and grabs Violet’s shoulders, spinning her around to face the counter, “Listen, I love you, Violet, but you gotta loosen up and let go for just one night and you’ll see for yourself, yeah? Now let’s do more shots.”

After that it’s all one big slur for Violet, a mess of things she remembers vividly but isn’t sure happened at all. It’s shots shots shots and then Farrah is dragging her on the dance floor, and then it’s lights and music and bass on her skin, and bodies surrounding her and pressing up against her, and shots again and she’s tipsy, she’s tipsy, and then she’s suddenly drunk and then Kameron does an honest to God split right there, in the middle of the club, and then Brianna brings more shots and then she maybe dances with Pearl, her back to Pearl’s front, Pearl’s fingers on her hipbones, pulling Violet closer, and her lips on Violet’s neck, and then perhaps Pearl flips her around, or possibly it’s Violet who twists her body until they’re chest to chest, Violet’s arms thrown over Pearl’s shoulders and Pearl’s breath hot on Violet’s jaw, but before she can register any of that she’s already somewhere else and she’s not sure about anything and then it’s more music, more shots, more bodies, more and more and more and then Blair is shepherding them out of the club and into a taxi and Madrid is a blur of lights and colours and sounds and she’s still pulsing.

By the time they enter the hotel lobby, Violet’s head swings a little less than it did at the club and she feels a little more in control of herself and her body. Kameron and Pearl have stayed outside for yet another cigarette, and Farrah, who fell asleep approximately seven seconds into their ride and spent the entirety of it drooling on Violet’s shoulder, looks wide awake and awfully ready to continue the partying while she tries to convince everyone to join her at the hotel bar.

“C’mon,” she pleads. “Let’s check if Pedro is working tonight. Maybe they’ll even have the belly dance girls performing.”

“No, that’s Tuesday nights only,” Brianna says. “But I think Kamy would go for another drink, and I wouldn’t mind one, either.”

“I don’t know,” Blair contemplates. “I’ll never get up tomorrow if I don’t go to bed soon.”

“Blair,” Farrah whines, drawing out the vowel.

“Okay, but I’m only having one Virgin Mary and then I’m off,” Blair agrees.

Farrah claps her hands gleefully before turning to Violet with a hopeful expression on her pretty little face, “Vi?”

Violet drunkenly lets her head fall to the side and shakes it, her eyes closed, “I don’t think I can. I need my bed.”

Farrah pfft’s but doesn’t press it to Violet’s surprise. Brianna and Blair wish her a good night, and Farrah tries to communicate something by making a face at Violet, but Violet can’t for the life of her comprehend what it is she’s trying to say exactly, and she’s not sure she particularly cares to know, either. That doesn’t stop Farrah, though. She starts walking backwards, following the other two who have already trailed ahead, and points two fingers at her own eyes, then at Violet’s, mouthing something Violet can’t make any sense of. She arches an eyebrow at Farrah, which only makes the blonde make more obscure gestures in Violet’s general direction, and waves her goodbye before turning on her heels and heading for the elevator.

It doesn’t happen like it does in movies, with elevator doors sliding closed dramatically and someone pushing their arm or leg or both between them at the very last possible moment. In fact, the way it happens is almost anticlimactic in its simplicity and lack of any theatric elements. The doors haven’t even started to close When Pearl walks in, and they have the audacity to stay wide open for good ten seconds after that, too, leaving the two of them in very awkward silence.

“Um,” Violet says finally.

“Hi,” Pearl says. grinning around the word lazily.

Violet leans on one of the walls, right next to the buttons. Pearl mimics her action, slumping against the wall opposite Violet and folding her arms on her chest. The movement pushes her boobs up slightly and Violet hates how that makes her gaze drop to them instantly, but she can’t help herself, has to admire their full form and imagine what they would feel like under her hands and lips. Neither of them has pressed the button for their floor. Violet probably should. She’s not even sure Pearl’s room is on the same floor as hers. She should probably ask. Pearl speaks before Violet remembers how to use her vocal chords, though.

“Have fun tonight?”

Violet feels the corners of her mouth turn up in an involuntary but genuine smile, “Lots.”

“Still ducking out this early?” Pearl says, and Violet’s not sure if it’s a question or just a statement because Pearl doesn’t really bother changing the pitch of her voice.

“Need m’bed,” Violet repeats, looking at Pearl through her hooded lids.

Pearl’s reply comes immediately, like she didn’t even have to think of it, “Yeah? Betcha mine’s closer.”

It’s probably the dorkiest silliest line Violet has heard in a very long while, maybe even ever, but it makes her heart feel like it skips several beats and then starts racing like it’s working twice as hard to make up for what it missed.

“Is that so?” she manages, and she hopes Pearl doesn’t notice the way her voice tightens.

Pearl just quirks a suggestive eyebrow, the very tip of her tongue peeking out to wet her lips quickly, and that kind of flips something inside Violet. If there’s one thing she knows through and through, it’s how to ooze confidence when she needs to, even if she feels she hasn’t got any. and right now she needs to, wants to, has to.

“Better take me there, then, captain,” she says, and it’s probably not the smoothest thing she could have come up with, but she has to admit she makes it sound seductive.

Pearl breathes out a soundless chuckle and pushes herself off the wall. She crosses the small space, closing the distance between them, and puts her forearm next to Violet’s head. She reaches her other hand to push the button for the sixth floor, her eyes firmly fixed on Violets face as she does so, and Violet just stares back, sucking on her lower lip and inhaling shallowly. The elevator shrieks and sinks down an inch before starting to climb up. Pearl doesn’t step back, actually dips closer, and Violet is consumed by her body heat and the faint smell of cigarettes she can sense on her skin, and it’s all intoxicating in a way that not a single drink she’s had tonight managed to be.

“I’m going to kiss you now if that’s okay,” Pearl says quietly.

“Yes, sir,” Violet whispers.

Pearl doesn’t hesitate or wait after that, bows her head and locks their lips. Hers are soft and plum on Violet’s, and she claims Violet’s mouth with both tenderness and demand simultaneously. Violet’s hands shoot up, fingers tangling in Pearl’s curls more on instinct than anything else, and her hips snap forwards, toward Pearl. The other fists the fabric of Violet’s dress on the sides, grip tight, tugging Violet in while she tries to bring herself closer, too. They don’t collide as much as they come in contact gradually, melt into each other, bodies moving with one another rather than against each other. Pearl kisses like she’s sinning, passionate and dirty and so fucking good, and Violet yields to it like she’s unholy.

They end up with Violet pinned between the wall and Pearl, Pearl’s hands on the back of Violet’s thighs as if she’s going to pick her up, and Violet’s fingers hooked under the high waistband of Pearl’s skirt. It would have probably gone far further than that had the elevator not come to a stop with a bling that forces them to separate. As the doors slide open, Violet gasps for air, her chest heaving violently, and Pearl looks very much like she’s trying to recompose herself, too.

“Do you want to..?” she starts.

“Yes,” Violet croaks out, interrupting her.

Pearl laughs breathily, “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“Doesn’t matter, I want it. Now take me to your room, please,” Violet says, and it comes out more whiny than she really intended it to.

Pearl laughs again and grabs Violet’s hand, laces their fingers together and leads Violet out of the elevator and down the hall. She doesn’t let go of Violet even when they reach her room and she has to awkwardly search through her bag for her key using one hand only. 

They walk through the door and Pearl tries to venture further into the room straight away, but Violet digs her heels in and stops her, tugging on her arm lightly but adamantly. Pearl turns to look, a question in her expression. Violet just pulls her in, trapping herself between the cool surface of the door and Pearl’s body, exactly like she wanted to end up. Pearl’s lips are on hers immediately, and she hears Pearl’s bag hit the floor as the blonde drops it hastily. Pearl’s hands are sure and firm, grabbing Violet’s waist, and her mouth is solid and experienced, eliciting tiny moans from Violet and making her wonder what it would feel like elsewhere on her body.

Pearl steps back, yanking Violet with her, and Violet follows, not wanting to break their contact just yet. Pearl starts backing up, sliding her palms from Violet’s waist to fiddle with the zipper of her dress on the back, and Violet pushes the hem of Pearl’s bustier up. They separate only once Violet has rolled the garment over Pearl’s breasts and Pearl lifts her arms to allow Violet to undress her, stepping out of her heels while they’re at it, which gives Violet a slight advantage height wise.

Violet drops the top somewhere and snatches the strap of her own handbag over her head, letting it fall to the floor, too, before connecting their lips again while Pearl pushes her dress down her shoulders. She shakes her sleeves off and sinks her fingers into Pearl’s hair, soft and silky under Violet’s touch, using her other hand to cup one of Pearl’s breasts through her strapless bra. It’s a handful, probably a cupsize or two bigger than Violet’s own boobs, and she loves how full and heavy it feels on her palm. She squeezes gently, slipping her thumb under the bra and pressing down on Pearl’s nipple that she can feel stiffen almost straight away. Pearl reacts by moaning against Violet’s mouth and pulling her dress down her sides, her short nails grazing Violet’s skin faintly, not enough to actually scratch, but enough to send chills down Violet’s spine. The dress slides down Violet’s bare legs, pooling at her feet, and Pearl helps her step out of it, her grip firm on Violet’s hips to steady her.

They make it to the bed in their rush of losing clothing and making out, and Pearl spins them around, swallowing the surprised sound that escapes Violet when the back of her knees hit the bed. She presses down on Violet’s hips, clearly prompting her to sit down, and Violet obeys, abandons Pearl’s lips and flops on the bed. She reaches for the straps on her stilettos, unbuckling them and kicking the heels off quickly, whilePearl backtracks a little and removes her skirt excruciatingly slowly for Violet’s liking.

Violet coaxes Pearl closer as soon as Pearl’s done taking the piece of clothing off, her gut tightening with lust and need at the sight before her. Pearl is stunning. She’s got curves in all the right places, the fact that is more prominent now that her figure isn’t covered by draping material of her skirt or her uniform, designed to be more proper and practical than flattering. Violet can’t stop staring at how deliciously her waist dips into her hips, and she wants to follow the line with her fingers, wants to run them all over Pearl’s skin to find out whether it’s as soft and smooth as it looks.

Pearl steps closer, her knees bumping into Violet’s, and Violet’s attention is drawn to her full thighs. Pearl’s got a tattoo on one of them, a large, intricate design, and Violet strokes it with her knuckles before she can think better of it. She wants to learn the meaning behind it, behind each of Pearl’s tattoos, really, but she feels this isn’t the time or the place to ask.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos,” she says. “I like them.”

“Yours aren’t half bad, either. Did this one hurt?” Pearl murmurs, brushing her fingertips against the ink on Violet’s ribcage.

“It didn’t, or like, it felt nice. It hurts, but not in a bad way. It was… enjoyable? I like it. It’s addictive… The pain, I like it,” Violet stutters, feeling kind of silly for oversharing.

Something dark flickers in Pearl’s eyes momentarily. “Really?” she says in a tone that sounds almost contemplative.

Violet chews the inside of her cheek and nods, and Pearl smirks, placing her hands on Violet’s shoulders and straddling her. Violet immediately wraps her arms around Pearl’s middle, pleasantly surprised to have a lapful of this gorgeous woman and to be face to face with her breasts. Pearl chuckles and moves one of her hands under Violet’s chin, forcing her to lift it enough to face her and pressing an open-mouth kiss on Violet’s lips.

She soon moves to kiss and nibble on Violet’s neck instead, and Violet blindly locates the hooks of Pearls bra and undoes them, discarding the garment next to her feet. Pearl’s breasts are perky despite their size, and Violet preoccupies her hands with them immediately. Pearl responds by curving her back into Violet’s touch and sucking on her skin gently, just about hard enough to leave the spot throbbing without leaving a mark.

As much as Violet enjoys Perl’s lips on her, she painfully needs her own mouth on Pearl’s body more, so she nudges Pearl, causing the other to straighten her pose and look at Violet with a shadow of concern.

“Is this okay?” she asks, tensing noticeably.

“This is perfect,” Violet assures her, pushing Pearl’s boobs together playfully, then letting go of them. She stretches her neck to peck Pearl’s lips, and adds against them, “Wanna touch you.”

Pearl relaxes again, her shoulders drooping a little when the tension leaves them as if she’s sinking into Violet under her, and lets out a content purr that Violet interprets as an encouragement to keep going. She kisses Pearl’s chin, then drags her lips down her throat and chest, until she reaches one of Pearl’s nipples. She licks it, and Pearl arches her bak with a low hiss. Violet takes her nipple in her mouth, sucking on it, and twists Pearl’s other one gently between her thumb and index finger. Pearl responds by digging her hand into Violet’s hair and closing part of it in her fist. She doesn’t tug, but the movement still makes Violet’s scalp tingle, and she kind of wishes Pearl would. She slides her palm down Pearl’s stomach, stopping right where her fingers meet the silk of Pearl’s panties. Pearl bucks her hips up as if urging Violet to keep moving, but Violet doesn’t rush, shoves her hand down so that her fingertips are under the elastic band but not an inch lower than that and twirls her tongue around Pearl’s nipple instead.

“Come on, Violet,” Pearl groans, her voice a perfectly balanced mixture of frustration and command. “Don’t be a tease.”

Violet lets go of Pearl’s breasts and looks up at her. Something about her words, spoken like this, lowly and confidently, turns Violet on so much she feels almost lightheaded on it. She has to squeeze her own thighs together, contemplating teasing Pearl even further, but it’s as if Pearl can tell what she’s thinking. She tightens her grip on Violet’s hair and rolls her hips impatiently. 

“Don’t make me ask twice, doll,” she says, her tone just a shade darker than her eyes, and it’s so hot Violet’s stomach drops.

She slides her hand down Pearl’s undies, fingers brushing against Pearl’s folds delicately, and Pearl shivers so forcefully that Violet is not only able to feel it but she also sees it. She uses her other hand to hold Pearl’s hip, thumb on her hipbone and nails sinking into her flesh while she parts Pearl’s lips lightly and presses her digits between them. They’re slick with Pearls wetness immediately, and Violet draws some of that from her entrance up as she moves to Pearl’s clit and starts pressing down close to it with her index and middle fingers one at a time, teasing and slow and on a brink of close enough but not quite. Pearl exhales a heavy, shattering breath and rolls her hips into Violet’s hand, tentatively at first and then repeating the movement with more determination.

Violet adds a bit of pressure and that finally makes Pearl yank on her hair properly. It’s unexpected yet desired, and it’s not even half as painful as it is arousing, going straight between her legs and making her whimper and curse out loud.

“Pearl, _fuck_ ,” she moans out hoarsely, not really knowing what it is she’s asking for or how to ask for it.

Pearl’s grip on Violet’s hair goes slack, and she combs her hand through it tenderly, “Did you like that, babe? Did that feel good?”

Violet swallows audibly and nods with a raspy _yeah_ , and she can feel Pearl wrap part of her locks around her fist. She presses her fingertips down flat and starts stroking in circular motions, using her wrist more and making sure she gets Pearl’s clit directly now, to which Pearl reacts by pulling her hair with enough vigour to force her to tilt her head back. Pearl grunts something incomprehensible and kisses Violet sloppily, her fist still tugging on Violet’s hair every now and again, pleasantly more than painfully, and her other hand sneaking into Violet’s bra to caress her breast,

Violet slides her fingers back down to Pearls opening, not wasting any time before pushing one of them inside Pearl. She’s so wet and aroused that it slips in easily, but she feels incredibly tight around Violet, and she doesn’t rush to add another digit just yet, instead concentrating on working up a steady rhythm as she pumps her wrist. Pearl bites Violet’s lower lip and rotates her hips into Violets hand, jerkily and frantically and not matching Violet’s tempo at all, but Violet adjusts to it, changes her movements to fit Pearl’s rather than guide them.

Pearl hides her face in Violet’s shoulder, her breathing growing more laboured, and she presses her knees tighter into Violet’s hips as if trying to trap her under herself more. Violet pulls her finger out, swirling it around Pearl’s opening before pushing back in, using two fingers this time. Pearl takes them nicely, still feeling warm and wet and tight, and the pure ecstasy of sinking her fingers into a wet cunt makes Violet gasp with pleasure. She presses all the way in but doesn’t start thrusting, just keeps curling her fingers inside Pearl ever so slightly.

It takes Pearl a moment to realise Violet’s gone still, but when she does, she lifts her face with an almost cocky look of realisation written all over it.

“Want me to ride your fingers, huh?” she asks throatily.

“Please.”

Pearl props herself up a little and rocks her hips down then, studying Violet as she does so.

“You like that, don’t you?” she grunts, repeating the movement. “You like it when someone takes over, yeah? Bet you’d like to give up all control and just be taken like you deserve to.”

“Yeah,” Violet whispers, feeling her cheeks burn up, Pearl’s words winding her up so good.

“Jesus, aren’t you a filthy little thing.”

All Violet can do in response is whimper and keep her wrist steady as Pearl fucks herself against her. She lets the other set the pace first, and once she’s got it figured out, she starts twirling her fingers. She finally lets go of Pearl’s hip and moves her free hand to squeeze Pearl’s thigh instead, her nails tracing the outlines of Pearl’s tattoo, and Pearl bows her head to kiss Violet’s neck.

“God, Violet, you’re so good. So good with your hands,” Pearl rasps, her breath tickling the delicate skin under Violet’s ear. “Want you to finish me off. Come on, make me come. I know you can.”

That causes Violet’s stomach to flip hollowly. She locates Pearl’s clit with her thumb, rubbing it fast and hard as she continues twirling her fingers and scissoring them inside Pearl. Pearl continues whispering dirty things against the crook of Violet’s neck, her words spilling in shattered fragments of incoherent sentences as the rolling of her hips against Violet’s hand becomes more erratic and unrhythmic. Her muscles tense, and Violet can feel her thighs shaking, can feel her walls begin spasming as her climax builds up and eventually washes over her.

She stills her hand again, keeps her fingers hooked just slightly and her thumb flat on Pearl’s clit, letting Pearl ride out her orgasm. Pearl’s body contracts, violently at first and then with decreasing intensity, and when she finally goes limp in Violet’s lap, Violet wraps her arm around her soothingly and pulls out of Pearl.

Pearl doesn’t take too long to catch her breath, shifting almost immediately and sitting back upright, and Violet slips her hand out of Pearl’s panties. She immediately pops her thumb into her mouth and sucks it clean, and then proceeds to do the exact same with the rest of her fingers. Pearl just stares at her, completely expressionless, and Violet holds her gaze smugly as she licks her lips when she’s done, as if she’s chasing the remnants of Pearl’s taste.

“Wow, you really are a little tease, hm? Just begging for it with your tricks,” Pearl drawls out, her tone flat in a way that makes her sound completely collected and nonchalant.

“Will you give it to me, then?” Violet asks, suddenly feeling very cheeky and very drunk again, but this time on the smell of sex and smoke and sweat and Pearl’s skin that is as tangible as the tension that the air between them is charged with.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“Please, captain,” Violet utters breathily.

Pearl makes a strangled noise somewhere in the back of her throat and shoves Violet’s shoulders, gently but hard enough for Violet to realise Pearl wants her on her back. She falls onto mattress, leaning on her elbows, and Pearl sits up on her knees, releasing Violet from under herself which allows Violet to push herself on the bed completely and readjust her position until she’s resting her head on the pillows. Pearl follows her, straddling Violet again and sitting down onViolet’s legs. She dips her head to kiss the corner of Violet’s mouth and then moves down, peppering small pecks on Violet’s skin as she goes.

“You do realise I’m not a captain yet, right?” she mumbles while tracing her lips on Violet’s collarbone.

“I’d still listen to your orders any day of the week,” Violet hums eerily.

Pearl snorts so silently that Violet more feels it than actually hears it, and drags her lips over Violet’s chest before replying, “Oh my God, you’re actually funny. I didn’t think I’d ever get to see this side of you. I always thought you were- -“

“Stuck up? Distant? Unapproachable?” Violet provides, directing her words more at the ceiling than at Pearl. It sounds like just another backhanded compliment, nothing she hasn’t heard before, but that doesn’t make it sting any less.

Pearl freezes in her tracks, stopping right above Violet’s bellybutton, and stays there for a while before pushing herself up on her arms and crawling back to face Violet.

“Out of my league. The phrase I was looking for is out of my league,” she murmurs.

Something in Violet’s chest tightens at that, and she lets her eyes dart around the room for a while before daring meet Pearl’s gaze.

“That’s ridiculous,” she states.

“You’re ridiculous,” Pearl shoots back and presses their mouths together before Violet can reply. 

Violet doesn’t resist, wraps her arms around Pearl’s neck and concentrates on this, choosing to ignore the stupid way her heart flatters. Pearl cups her cheek and pushes her other hand under Violet’s back, and Violet arches it enough to allow some space between herself and the comforter she’s lying on. Pearl skilfully unhooks her bra using one hand only and throws it somewhere, grabbing Violet’s breast and letting out a sound that is equal parts surprised and appreciative when she feels the metal of Violet’s nipple ring under her touch. She takes it, twiddling with it and pulling it just the tiniest bit without breaking the kiss.

Violet lets her fingertips dance down Pearl’s spine and then over her ass, gripping it and digging into the soft flesh. Pearl keeps kissing her, altering between sucking on her lower lip and slipping her tongue into Violet’s mouth to explore it, and she moves her hands to Violet’s sides, sliding them down. She reaches the lace of Violet’s panties but doesn’t stop there, tugs on the fabric and Violet lifts her hips to help Pearl take the garment off, kicking the panties away as soon as Pearl throws her leg over Violet and positions herself next to her on the bed instead.

Pearl starts moving her mouth down again and puts her palm on Violet’s thigh. Violet is so turned on and needy, and it’s been a while since she’s been with anyone, which is probably why a simple, light touch this close to where she desperately needs it most makes her hips jolt uncontrollably and elicits a loud whine from her. She feels dizzy on anticipation and excitement and pure, raw eagerness to be completely wrecked, made come undone so good she’ll have trouble putting herself back together, fucked so thoroughly her legs won’t be able to carry her for an hour after Pearl’s done with her. She tries to ask for it, but it comes out in a series of winces and gasps rather than words.

Pearl seems to understand, though. She spreads Violet’s legs with her hand and brushes her fingers against Violet’s lips, and Violet swears the contact is electric. She tries to close her thighs again, an unintentional reaction, but Pearl just hums and taps them lightly with her palm.

“C’mon, doll, keep ‘em open, yeah?” she smirks. “Can you keep ‘em open for me?”

Violet complies, slides her legs open, and Pearl immediately presses her fingers into her wet heat , keeping her fingertips hard and flat as she rubs them over her clit again and again. Her mouth finds Violet’s nipple, biting down on the metal ring before letting her tongue circle it just once, and Violet tries to curve her back and push her hips into Pearl’s touch at the same time. It doesn’t really work out for her, so she ends up sobbing out cracked pleas instead.

Pearl just moves her wrist faster, her slippery fingers working up a pulsing pressure, and Violet feels her muscles clench, a promise of the approaching orgasm so intense she can basically taste it. She jerks her hips up again as if she’ll be able to chase her release with that. but instead of indulging her, Pearl stops altogether and removes her hand, using it to pin Violet to the mattress.

“Please, so close, just let me… Need to come,” she begs before she can stop herself. “Please, Pearl.”

“Nah-uh,” Pearl says casually. “Not done yet. Wanna eat you out.”

She doesn’t wait for Violet’s reply, and it’s not like she would have gotten one, either, because Violet thinks her brain shuts down permanently. Pearl just manoeuvres herself between Violet’s legs, and forces them open even wider with an appreciative noise. One hand still on Violet’s waist, she spreads Violet’s lips with two of her fingers and ducks her head, licking a long stripe between them from Violet’s entrance up to her clit. Violet just closes her eyes an clasps a palm over her own mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle filthy moans that keep making getaway from between her slightly parted lips.

Pearl places another torturously slow lick from Violet’s opening up, and then laps her tongue over Violet’s clit repeatedly, making her shiver every time she passes the most sensitive spot. She lets go of Violet’s waist, and reaches to wrap her hand around Violet’s wrist instead, tugging on it softly, Violet opens her eyes only to find Pearl already looking up at her through her half closed lids, and her gaze stays glued to Pearl’s as Pearl moves back down to where Violet is leaking slick and licks tentatively inside her. Violet flinches, pleasure washing over her in overwhelming tides, and removes her hand from her mouth.

“Fuck me,” she blurts out.

Pearl twirls her tongue around teasingly, and Violet whines and shifts both impatiently and desperately. She needs it so much she can physically feel it in her pussy, and when Pearl finally licks inside her again and starts fucking her with her tongue, it’s a momentary relief, but it’s not enough. She wants to feel more, wants to feel Pearl’s clever fingers filling her and unravelling her until she’s a trembling mess pleading for mercy.

“More, please, just more,” she cries.

Pearl lifts her face and teases Violet by drawing her finger around her clit and then down down down, pushing it inside her unhurriedly, and it’s so close to overwhelmingly perfect but still not enough.

“ _More_ ,” Violet says pointedly.

She knows she’s let Pearl reduce her to a pathetic, whimpering ruin of a woman without her even having to try all that hard, but she can’t bring herself to care about how embarrassingly vulnerable she presents in front of this person she barely even knows.

Pearl gives it to her, adds another digit, and the sudden feeling of being this full, of stretching around Pearl as she thrusts her wrist drives Violet closer to total exhilaration with each passing second. Pearl puts her mouth back on Violet, sucks on her clit between tiny fast flicks of the tip of her tongue while she fucks her steadily, and all Violet manages is to nudge her hips against Pearl’s movements and gasp brokenly.

It’s really only a matter of moments for Pearl to take her apart with her capable hands and mouth. Violet comes harder than she has in a while, her legs shaking and her hips shooting up once more. Pearl removes her fingers and presses a light kiss on Violet’s clit, and Violet flops back onto the mattress, waiting for the aftershocks of her orgasm to subside enough for her to move.

Pearl wipes her chin with the back of her palm, cleaning her hand on the comforter after, and Violet lets out a pouty sound at that.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about your finger sucking kink,” Pearl flatlines. “Sorry ‘bout it.”

“It’s not a kink,” Violet protests.

“Sure, doll, keep telling yourself that,” Pearl says and pulls the comforter off of the side of the bed that isn’t occupied by Violet, diving under the blankets.

Violet sits up, her muscles still somewhat shaky and already starting to feel sore, and looks around, trying to locate her clothes.

“What’re you doin’?” Pearl slurs into the pillow, her voice sounding far more inebriated and exhausted than just a second ago.

“I thought, I figured I’d,” Violet mumbles. “I thought I’d leave.”

“Uh-uh, stay,” Pearl says, doing a grabby hand in Violet’s direction. When Violet doesn’t answer straight away, she adds, “Please?”

“You sure? I can go.”

“Yah, I wanna spoon,” Pearl says. “C’mere, lemme cuddle you.”

Violet shrugs, more to herself because Pearl’s face is still mostly buried in her pillow and her eyes are shut, and climbs under the cool, thin sheets. Pearl immediately circles her arm around Violet’s middle and pulls her closer, shamelessly cupping her breast and intertwining her leg with Violets.

“Geez, imagine,” she says, and her words are so muffled by Violet’s hair that Violet has difficulties catching them. “Tomorrow sober me will wake up and realise drunk me somehow scored the hottest girl ever. Well done, sweetie.”

“Oh my God,” Violet laughs. “You really are an idiot.”

“Uh-huh,” Pearl says and squeezes Violet’s boob. “D’you like that?”

“Please shut up and sleep,” Violet keeps giggling, something about Pearl’s words and laid-back presence relaxing her immensely.

“Okay, but only if you promise I get to fuck you again tomorrow.”

“Sure, sure, assuming that you’re not too hungover for that.”

“Have you ever been too hungover to eat pussy, huh?”

“Goodnight, Pearl,” Violet says, trying to sound exasperated but ending up sounding quite fond instead. 

“No but have you?” Pearl insists.

“Can’t say that I have. I’m sleeping now.”

“Joykill,” Pearl complains, and Violet elbows her playfully in response. “Okay, I’m shutting up. Goodnight, doll.”

Violet listens as Pearl’s breathing evens out and becomes heavy, indicating that she’s asleep within just minutes. Violet herself feels extremely awake and alert, and she keeps replaying Pearl’s words in her head on a loop, not knowing what to make of them.

The dawn has almost broken behind the sheer curtains on the hotel room window when sleep finally consumes her.


	2. london sunshine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly I want to apologise in advance. You’ll know what for when you read it.
> 
> We’re entering what I, in my head, refer to as a happy-sappy relationship-y arc of this fic. This is where we have it sweet and cute and good. I’ve never done anything quite as fluffy as this before, so please be gentle.
> 
> This is also the stage where content warnings need to be made so TW - this starts out with a smut scene that includes daddy kink, spanking, humiliation kink, hints of both captain and uniform kinks, excessive usage of the words ‘daddy’, ‘slut’, and ‘whore’, gagging, binding. I myself don’t think it’s all that kinky but I’ve been politely informed that it is lmao.
> 
> Also when I was writing chap 1, I didn’t know that Cracker is attempting to stay completely sober. My intention wasn’t to be disrespectful, and from now on I’ll be more careful with this stuff :) 
> 
> A massive thank you to Lily and Jazz for being absolutely fabulous and helping me troop through this writing process when I didn’t think I had it in me. Also a special shoutout to Lily for being - quite literally - my eyes for this one. Hope you guys enjoy this !

The door hasn’t even clicked shut behind them yet when Pearl’s hands are already on her,  clawing and squeezing and pulling and pinching, and it’s so extremely overdue, so needed that it physically hurts her. Violet gasps for air hopelessly, but it is as if her desire has taken up all the space in her lungs and there’s no room for oxygen, no necessity, either. They stumble further into the room, tripping over their brusquely discarded suitcases, no time to move or even kick them aside. Pearl’s lips find hers finally and she doesn’t waste a single second longer, pushes her tongue into Violet’s mouth hungrily, exploring, demanding. and claiming claiming claiming. Between kisses, little whispers against Violets breath, _baby baby baby_ and _missed you so much_ and _need you oh my God need you_ , and Violet reacts instinctively, her body simultaneously an overly wired piano string, ready to snap at a little added pressure, and soft plasticine, melting under Pearls hot touch and ready to be reshaped in her smart palms.

The room is nice, but there’s no time to register that, no time to look for the bed, either. Pearl is pressing her against something, a surface, and its edge is digging into Violet’s back so painfully, so right, anchoring her a little. She’s lightheaded, requires more. Pearl is tugging on her silk scarf, exposing her neck and sucking on it, and it’s not enough in any way, but it’s also overwhelmingly too much after a week of absolute nothing. Violet grabs the lapels of Pearl’s pilot jacket, pulls her closer, then proceeds to frantically try to remove her own blazer.

“On, on, on,” Pearl chants manically. “Keep it on. You look so hot, so fuckable  in your little uniform. Fucking hell, I need you. Need you so bad, need to feel you.”

The street beneath their hotel room windows is alive and loud and Violet doesn’t know where they are, doesn’t know what time of day or date it is, isn’t even sure what continent country city. It could be Milan or Berlin, but then again, it could be Sao Paulo or Tokyo or Beijing. The thing is, it doesn’t really matter, it could never matter. The only thing that matters is Pearl, her touch and kisses and words like a lucid moment in her insanity, too good to be true, too real to be anything but.

Violet stops her attempts to undress, shuts Pearl up with her own mouth, their lipstick a mess, their breathing rigid and laboured, their movements desperate and lacking any finesse.

“Yes, captain,” she manages to choke out.

Pearl grunts and flips her around without any prior warning, shoving her down and bending her over the table she had her pressed against earlier. Violet yelps in surprise, but she can’t really claim this isn’t exactly what she was aiming to achieve. Pearl puts a heavy palm just beneath the blade of Violet’s shoulders, pinning her down, and her other hand unceremoniously pulls Violet’s skirt up, leaving it rolled right above her bum. Violet purrs and curls her back, pushing her silk-clad ass up, which immediately earns her a slap on her left cheek. It makes her hiss — the first one always stings the most, but that’s what makes it so endlessly sweet.

Pearl forces Violets legs apart by fitting one of her own between  them, her fingers hooking under the edge of Violet’s panties and stroking her skin ever so lightly. The touch is minimal yet electric and it makes Violet jerk into it involuntarily. Pearl chuckles and retracts her hand.

“So impatient, my God, Vi,” she says and pinches Violet’s ass, eliciting a whimper. “Betcha I could make you beg for it.”

“Please,” Violet whines instantly without as much as giving it a second thought.

This time Pearl’s palm lands on her thigh,  the spank hard enough to echo through the room deliciously. The spot tingles, leaving Violet thirsty for more.

“Please what?”

“Please, daddy,” Violet pleads breathlessly, the words so thick they hurt her throat on their way out.

“Please _what_?” Pearl repeats demandingly. “What do you want, Vi? Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Spank me, daddy. Please, I want to be spanked so hard.”

Pearl chuckles again, sounding pleased beyond any reason. She slides her hand from Violet’s thigh where she’s been resting it to cup her ass, squeezing it firmly, and then continues between Violet’s legs, not quite touching, just ghosting her fingers over the fabric Violet knows is being soaked and ruined far faster than she’d care to admit.

“Gosh, Vi, just look at you, won’t you?” Pearl drawls out. “Are you not ashamed of yourself? I have barely touched you and you’re already dripping and begging for more like a little slut.”

Violet feels her cheeks burn up, an intoxicating mixture of humiliation and arousal making her squirm and try to grind against something, anything, Pearl, or the table, but Pearl just pins her down harder and  spreads her legs wider with a low laugh.

“How many hours of this flight did you spend thinking about me instead of doing your job, you little whore? I’m sure you had to sit there squeezing your thighs together and biting your tongue during every tiny turbulence, huh? Did you feel how wet you are when you did that?”

Violet whimpers and Pearl drops her hand lower, then pinches a trail up Violet’s inner thigh, so close to where she needs to be touched, but still not close enough, before leaning over her. The weight of the other on top of her is grounding, sobering, and Violet uses this to fill her lungs with air and calm down a little to prevent herself from passing the fuck out.

“Or did you sneak into the restroom and get off thinking about this, hm? Did you think of me when you touched yourself with your filthy little fingers?” Pearl whispers into her ear as her fingertips finally press against Violet’s pussy through the silk of her panties.  Violet gasps soundlessly, grabbing the edge of the table for anything to hold onto.  She loves it when Pearl spits out dirty things against her skin, when Pearl talks down to her like this, humiliates her for her lust. It makes her want even stronger.

Pearl straightens her pose, her nails grazing Violet’s lips through the material, and she moves her other hand from Violet’s back to her hip. The way she’s resting it there, solid and steady, is oddly soothing and reassuring.

“Daddy, I need- -” is all Violet manages brokenly.

“Such a slut, Violet,” Pearl hums and pushes Violet’s panties aside a little, not bothering to remove them. She presses two of her fingers inside Violet straight away, and Violet feels her eyes roll to the back of her head  as she struggles to remember how to breathe.

Pearl starts pumping her fingers in and out, fast and hard like Violet always asks for, and Violet feels that familiar hollow flipping in the pit of her stomach with every thrust of Pearl’s wrist. She curves her back even further in her despair to feel more, and rocks her hips into Pearl’s hand, timidly at first and then with growing earnest, fucking herself against Pearl’s digits.

Violet just about succeeds at building up a rhythm to match Pearl’s when Pearl suddenly pulls her fingers out. Violet whines about it, too far gone to care how pathetic she sounds, and Pearl just lets out a shit-eating snort in reaction, yanking Violet’s knickers off with one firm tug. The undergarment falls down her legs and stays around her ankles, as if restricting her a little,  and the air against her now bare skin isn’t much cooler than the silk was, but the contrast still makes her shiver. Pearl brings her hand back to Violet’s pussy, parts her lips slightly and finds her clit, rubs circles around it with far too little pressure, and all Violet knows is _moremoremoremore daddy more_.

She’s too lost in the feeling of Pearl gently stroking her to realise that Pearl has removed her hand from her hip, so it surprises her when Pearl suddenly drops her fingers back to her opening and slips them into her at the exact same time as she places a spank on Violet’s ass. She howls, caught off guard and hurting and head swinging with pleasure and her insides, her insides twisting and knotting with how good she feels. Pearl slaps her again, her palm solid and so so amazing on Violet’s flesh and Violet’s knees buckle treacherously, leaving her depending on the desk more than on her feet.

“Such a slutty baby, Vi,” Pearl says lowly and spanks Violet again, keeping her thrusts deep and steady and fast-paced. “So good for daddy.”

Violet can’t find her voice to reply, just tries to somehow raise her ass up more without having to rely on her legs to work, but that’s enough for Pearl. She moves her wrist and slaps slaps slaps again and again, and Violet holds onto the side of the table for dear life, wincing out nonsense. She can feel her mascara running down her cheeks, and it hurts, and she knows that in a couple of hours it’ll really fucking hurt, just plain hurt, leaving her flesh aching and sore and raw, but right now it’s the kind of pain that is laced with pleasure so tightly  that it excites her more than anything else, and Pearl knows how to work her, knows how much she can take before she’s at her limit, she knows and she isn’t afraid to push all the way to it.

She kind of expects Pearl to ask her to count with her, make her work for it a little, but instead Pearl does it herself, letting Violet get lost in her own headspace and pleasure. She keeps her sets rhythmic and the breaks between them short, only stopping after each twenty spanks to place a light kiss on Violet’s skin or whisper sweet encouragements  against the crook of her neck. Her fingers, sleek and slick and elegant, find Violets spot effortlessly, like they always do, and  she keeps hitting it so right, and suddenly Violet’s crumbling, coming apart and just coming  so hard she’s clenching. Her whole body shakes with her orgasm, and Pearl keeps her fingers inside Violet but stops  moving, using her other hand to grab Violet’s waist and holding her through it.

“Well done, doll, you were so amazing for your daddy,” Pearl drawls eventually, pulling out of Violet with a wet sound and stroking her back soothingly. Violet purrs, too out of it to say anything  just yet, although everything within her screams _thank you, daddy, thank you thank you thank you._ She rests her cheek against the desktop and Pearl brushes aside locks that have escaped her prim bun and traces Violet’s lips with her slippery fingertips. Violet parts them on instinct, which makes Pearl chuckle amusedly and push her digits into Violet’s mouth for her to suck them clean lazily.

“Gimme just a second,” Violet says when Pearl’s hand is gone. The other hums her acknowledgement and moves away, and Violet can hear her venture farther into the room. She steadies her breathing and makes sure her legs won’t give way if she puts her weight on them, then pushes herself up on her arms and steps out of her pumps and panties.

Pearl is leaning on a bedpost behind her, her arms folded on her chest, and she looks equal parts smug and anticipating. Violet shimmies out of her skirt and unbuttons her blazer, discarding the garment carelessly and revealing the silk bra she’s wearing underneath.

“Where’s your blouse?” Pearl asks snappily.

“Oops,” Violet gasps, feigning innocent shock. “I think I forgot to put it on.”

She had taken it off a tiny while before they landed. Brianna had shaken her head and massaged her temples with a deep, tired sigh upon seeing Violet emerge from the restroom without it, and she’s pretty sure a fair portion of male travellers had talked to her tits after that, but it’s all worth it when she sees the look on Pearl’s face.

“Did you serve passengers like that?” she grunts through gritted teeth.

Violet smirks and Pearl narrows her eyes.

“You get off on people looking at you or something?”

“Shut up,” Violet says, a brand new demand in her voice. “I want you out of your clothes safe for your tie, hat, and lingerie, and on the bed.”

There’s a certain amount of wickedness and challenge in Pearl’s expression, and for a fleeting moment Violet thinks she’s going to argue, but then she strips quickly and gets on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows and watching Violet.

Violet unhooks her own bra and lets it fall to the floor, and then unties the silk scarf from around her neck before making her way to the bed. She climbs on top of Pearl’s legs, straddling them and sitting on her knees because her ass is far too sensitive to sit on and will be for a while if the way the flesh is still burning is any indication. She brings her hand up and traces the white lace that decorates the edge of Pearl’s bra cup.

“Love it when you wear baby blue,” she murmurs. “Accentuates your pretty eyes so nicely. Wrists, please.”

Pearl scowls but sits up and offers Violet her wrists without a word, and Violet uses the scarf to tie her up.

“Good?” she asks when she’s done.

Pearl tugs against the bind a couple times and purses her lips displeasedly, “Tighter, bitch.”

Violet rolls her eyes and redoes the knot, using more force than probably strictly necessary, but its not like Pearl is complaining about it. She does, however, subtly make sure she can fit her finger between Pearl’s skin and the material to ensure she didn’t cut off the circulation.

“Lie down, hands above your head,” she commands when she’s done, and this time Pearl obeys immediately. “So pretty when you’re tied down and listening to my orders for a change.”

Pearl just scowls again and Violet laughs, ducking down and kissing her on the lips. She’s setting the pace now, so it’s much less hurried, deeper and calmer. She knows Pearl likes it when she kisses her like this, sloppy and patient and slow, when she takes control, uses her fingers to tilt Pearl’s chin up for better access, knows that Pearl likes to be taken as much as she likes taking things.

She begins trailing her lips down, kisses and nibbles on Pearl’s neck, then lower, ghosts over Pearl’s collarbones and chest. Pearl’s breasts are spilling the cup a little whenever she’s lying on her back, sprawled out like this under Violet, and Violet bites into her tanned flesh, sucks a mark right after, there, in the spot she knows won’t be visible once Pearls got her uniform on, and then she pulls the bra down just enough to expose Pearl’s boobs. Pearl curls her back into Violet’s touch, trying to suppress little sighs and whimpers that keep escaping  her regardless, and Violet twirls her tongue around one of her nipples while playing with the other.

For all Violet knows, she could spend a forever and half paying attention to Pearl’s tits, especially as she is well aware of how much it turns Pearl on, hers being far more sensitive than Violet’s own, but the owner of said tits starts shifting beneath her rushingly after a while, so she drops lower, dragging her lips down Pearl’s stomach and then skipping to her inner thighs straight away. She keeps her eyes locked with Pearl’s as she teases her with her mouth, and she’s honestly impressed by how long Pearl lasts before snapping.

“For fuck’s sake, Violet, get on with it,” she moans eventually.

Violet straightens up and purses her lips at Pearl with a thoughtful expression, “Now that wasn’t very nice of you.”

“Violet, I swear to fucking God I will fucking fuck you up,” Pearl groans and fights her restricts vigorously but without any visible results.

“Is that any way to talk to a lady?” Violet pops her tongue in mock offence.

“I will beat your ass, you little bitch,” Pearl threatens.

Violet giggles and moves one of her knees between Pearl’s legs, readjusting her position so that she’s straddling one of Pearl’s thighs now. She grabs Pearl’s tie and wraps it around her tiny fist, pulling on it hard enough to force Pearl to lift her upper body from the bed. 

“I don’t think so,” she says sweetly. “In fact, you’re going to give me a hand here.”

She loosens her grip on the tie so that Pearl can flop back onto the bed, and sinks lower on her thigh, staying still for a little while before rolling her hips to rub her cunt against Pearl.  There’s a glint of danger in Pearl’s eyes as she realises what’s going on, but she responds by growling lowly and bending her knee to give Violet a better angle, bouncing her leg slowly to meetViolet’s rocking. Violet is still so wet from before, and it’s almost embarrassing how quickly Pearl’s skin is slick with that, making their movements frictionless and smooth.

Pearl just keeps whispering encouraging _so good, fuck, baby, so good, so hot, let daddy see how you can come without me having to even touch you_ , and Violet’s second orgasm is half as quickly achieved and twice as powerful as the previous one.

“Fucking hell, doll,” Pearl chokes out when Violet collapses against her chest, breathless and blissed out. “Slutty slutty girl.”

Violet exhales heavily and pushes herself downwards on the bed, between Pearl’s legs. She runs her fingers across the soaked-through material of Pearl’s panties, relishing in the feeling of how aroused the other is and in the knowledge she caused that. Her touch makes Pearl shiver, and Violet repeats it, light and teasing, prior to sliding the garment off  and dropping them on the bed next to the two of them.

“God, I’m starving,” she says.

“That was the shittiest line I’ve ever heard,” Pearl scoffs.

“Excuse you, the line you used to pick me up was far worse!”

“It was smooth and witty, I’ll have you know.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“You know what,” Violet says and fishes Pearl’s panties. Pearl’s eyes spark dangerously at the sight as Violet folds the garment, and she opens her mouth willingly when Violet reaches to put the makeshift gag between her lips, making sure it’s placed so that Pearl can taste herself on the fabric.

“Should have you like this more often,” Violet murmurs, drawing one of her nails around Pearl’s lower stomach. She knows her dirty talk isn’t as eloquent as Pearl’s, but she’s finding herself growing less and less flustered bye it lately. “Gagged and tied up. Helpless. So damn pretty.”

Helpless isn’t exactly the word to describe Pearl’s expression, but since she can’t use her usual outlets, to talk or to touch, she’s left to leer at Violet expectantly. Violet’s own patience is running just as thin, though, the time they’ve spent apart before this making it hard for her to control herself properly. She spreads Pearl’s legs open wider,  sighing happily and placing her thumb between Pearl’s lips, pressing down on her clit gently before dragging her finger down Pearl’s slit, toward her entrance. Pearl is so wet it’s incredible, and when Violet pushes her index finger into her, she feels tight and hot and familiar around her. Pearl moans around her gag, shifting against Violet’s hand, but Violet just keeps her pace leisurely and the amount of digits at one. After a while Pearl stops squirming, although her hips jerk up occasionally as if on their own accord, and this is her way of submitting.

Violet bows her head, snaking her unoccupied arm around Pearl’s thigh for better leverage, and puts her mouth on the other, letting her tongue do what she enjoys doing so much. She laps it over Pearl’s clit, not quite getting enough of her taste, and Pearl lets out what Violet assumes is a mumbled string of curses, tense and her hips bucking up into Violet’s touch. Violet flattens her tongue against Pearl’s pussy, waiting for her to catch her breath, and sucks on her clit lightly as soon as Pearl falls back onto the bed. She finally adds another finger, but keeps her attention mainly on Pearl’s clit, fucks her slow to eat her out fast, because that’s what Pearl needs to come unravelled. Pearl is mostly muted by the gag, but it’s still pretty evident she’s moaning into the fabric shamelessly.

Violet can tell she’s close to her orgasm when the muscles in her beautifully toned legs start quivering and she tries to clench them closed, trapping Violet’s head between her thighs. Violet grazes Pearl’s clit with her teeth, before sucking it again and slightly increasing the speed of her thrusts.

Pearl’s hips shoot up again, and Violet feels her walls closing around her fingers as she comes, whining and whimpering into her panties. Violet presses gentle kisses on her pussy, pumping her fingers for a little while longer, until Pearl tries to wriggle out of her hold and Violet knows she’s too sensitive to touch anymore.

She sits up, licking her lips, and removes the panties, wiping Pearl’s mouth with them before throwing them across the room, and then carefully undoes the knot on the scarf, rubbing Pearl’s wrists and checking for any visible damage. Pearl is slightly spaced out beneath her, letting her do her thing without as much as commenting or interfering.

Violet hops off the bed and gets two bottles of water from the mini fridge opposite it. She offers one to Pearl and gulps the contents of hers down while Pearl musters some energy to prop herself up and drink a little. In the meantime Violet unhooks Pearl’s bra, and then looks for her own purse to find her phone and locates Pearl’s device in the pocket of her pilot jacket, handing it to the other. When she’s done, she climbs back into bed over Pearl and nuzzles close to her side.

“It’s a little past noon, and London is apparently sunny,” Pearl says, capping her water with one hand while she browses through her phone with another.

“London, huh?” Violet muses.

“Guess that one’s ticked off now, too. Nice.”

“Uh-hmm,” Violet hums, her exhaustion too heavy for her to be producing anything else.

“Should we head out and explore? I know a place or two I bet you’d love.”

“Yeah, after a nap, maybe?” Violet asks wistfully.

If there’s a response, she doesn’t catch it. A mixture of jet lag and tiredness from a sleepless night and pleasant exhaustion that can only be caused by great sex threatens to consume her, and she can’t fight it anymore, lets it wash over her as she feels herself falling asleep. The last thing she registers is a duvet being pulled from underneath her, and then thrown over her, and then there’s arms wrapping around her, and it’s a very good feeling.

*

Some time later Violet is awoken by a trail of soft kisses being traced down her abdomen. She purrs contently and squeezes her eyes shut tighter, arching her back into pearl’s touch and blindly reaching her arm to thread her fingers through Pearl’s hair.

“Another round already?” she chuckles, her voice still intertwined with the remains of sleep in it.

Pearl grips Violet’s slightly lifted waist and places another sloppy kiss on her pelvis before replying, “Listen, I love fucking you senseless, but I also really freaking like London, so another round will have to wait.”

“Mmm,” Violet lets out, finally opening her eyes and trying to blink away the bleariness. “Can we go back to the _fucking me senseless_ part? I liked the sound of that, is that a promise?”

Pearl snorts loudly and moves up to peck Violet’s lips quickly. Violet tries to deepen the kiss, but Pearl escapes her before she can.

“Christ,” she says and taps her finger against the tip of Violet’s nose affectionately. “You really are insatiable, huh?”

“Only for you, daddy.”

Pearl shakes her head and dips down to kiss Violet again before pushing herself off the bed and heading for her open suitcase that she must have moved into  the room prior to waking Violet up.

“C’mon, doll, get up,” she coos, crouching in front of her luggage and browsing through it in search of something.

Violet yawns and stretches her limbs out. Her muscles ache pleasantly and the skin on her bum throbs in a way that suggests it’s going to bruise lightly, and she welcomes all of it happily. She likes it, the way Pearl leaves physical reminders of herself on her body, temporary yet visible evidence of her having been there, having touched Violet like Violet didn’t let anyone else touch her, having made Violet feel the way only Pearl knew how to.

“What are we doing today?” she asks when her yawning has subsided.

“There’s someplace I want to take you, I promise  you’ll love it,” Pearl says while climbing back onto the bed with her laptop and positioning herself comfortably. 

It turns out Pearl has already showered and got  ready while Violet was sleeping, so she works on her laptop while Violet grabs a quick shower and makes herself presentable. She does a light makeup and braids her hair to prevent it from getting frizzy in the humid air of London, and then she changes into a pair of loose high-waisted jeans and a Ralph Lauren sweater. Before they leave the room, Pearl pushes her against the wall and kisses her breathless and giggly and stupid, and Violet hides her wide smile by ducking her head and examining the carpeted floor of the hotel hallway as they exit the building.

London is grey and weary and windy. She’s brisk in a way where the low sun on her sky is bright but not warm, and her air is heavy and polluted. She’s full of sounds and scents and life, a medley of veiling ambulance  sirens and car horns and people shouting familiar words in foreign accents. She’s just that — exhausting and exciting and full of new phenomena in the old setting.

They walk to Holborn tube station hand in hand and catch a westbound Central Line train from there. It’s not exactly the busiest hour, so the carriage they enter is empty enough for them to find seats, but Violet chooses to stand instead, positioning herself in front of Pearl and grabbing the pole above her head to steady herself. It makes Pearl laugh in a manner that tells Violet she’s very pleased with herself, but she also spreads her legs for Violet to fit between them and absently hooks her fingers into the belt loops of Violet’s jeans, slipping her thumb under the hem of Violet’s sweater and stroking her skin gently.

Pearl motions it’s them at Bond Street station, and swiftly navigates them up to the ground through masses of people rushing to catch their ride.

“The place you wanted me to see is Oxford Street? Really, Pearly?” Violet rolls her eyes when they finally exit the station. Oxford Street is the exact same it always is, insane and overbearing and breathtaking and magical with its infamous Christmas lights already hung up.

Pearl nudges Violet and makes an exasperated face at her, “Fuck all the way off, Chach, do you want to see where I’m taking you or do you want to continue being a little sassy fuck?”

“Sorry, baby,” Violet says. “Lead the way.”

Pearl links their fingers again and pulls Violet with her as she rounds the corner of New Bond Street and starts down it. It’s considerably less crowded, at least  up until they reach the crossroads right before the Victoria’s Secret store. The river of pink stripy bags that streamed against them when they were walking down the street becomes a sea of them in front of the grand entrance. Violet tugs on Pearl’s arm when they stop in a red light, and Pearl arches a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Are we finally doing the fitting room thing?” she squeaks. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this, I mean, I thought you’d pick something else than Victoria’s Secret, but i’m game.”

“Geez, you kinky freak,” Pearl  sighs. “No, we’re not doing the fitting room thing today. We’re not going to Victoria’s Secret.”

Violet lets out a whiny noise and pouts her lip, but Pearl just gives her hand a brief squeeze.

“Just trust me, yeah?” she asks.

Violet nods her yes and Pearl continues walking. Gradually the stores they pass become more and more prestigious and expensive, and people around them become fewer. When they pass the magnificent windows of the Prada store, Violet stops abruptly. Pearl takes two more steps before realising Violet isn’t right beside her anymore, and turns around with a quizzical look.

“Pearl,” Violet says far more pointedly. “Where are we going?”

“Shush, we’re almost there, I promise,” Pearl says.

“Pearl, I’m serious,” Violet crosses her arms on her chest. “You and your shenanigans…”

Pearl just extends a hand for Violet to take again, and Violet complies with another eye roll and a sigh. Pearl yanks her closer as soon as their palms are clasped and wraps an arm around Violet’s neck, pressing a tiny kiss on Violet’s temple.

“I knew I should’ve had you blindfolded,” she smirks and pecks Violet’s pouty lips.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Violet  shoots back despite herself.

“Not as much as you, doll. Can we go now?”

Violet lets out an audible breath, but decides to not press it further. It’s not like Pearl is going to capitulate easily, and even if Violet insisted on her revealing her plans, she would repent it immediately because this seems like something Pearl is very excited to do. She blows her bangs out of her face and nods again, and Pearl gets on her tiptoes and kisses  the crown of her head happily. She keeps her arm slung over Violet’s shoulder as she picks up their previous pace, and Violet sneaks her own around Pearl’s waist, toying with the zipper of her pink leather jacket while she continues to look around and at Pearl in an attempt to figure out their destination.

Her suspense is rather short-lived. She’s studying the Chanel store display across the street from them when Pearl stops, and it takes her a couple seconds to tear her gaze away from a classic black 2.55 showcased there. An involuntary gasp leaves her as she finally sees where they are — in front of a Louis Vuitton store. Pearl lets go of her and stomps toward the door, quirking her eyebrow at Violet when she doesn’t follow her.

“Pearl,” she rasps. “This is Louis Vuitton.”

“Uh-huh,” Pearl says. “You coming?”

“Why are we going to Louis Vuitton?” Violet insists.

“Because I want to treat you to something nice,” Pearl shrugs.

“I… don’t… Pearl,” Violet stutters. “You shouldn’t, you don’t have to.”

“Listen, Vi, I’ve seen how you look at those things. In your glossy magazines and when one of them passes you on the street, I’ve seen it,” Pearl says. “It’s not like I have to, I want to. Come on in, pumpkin.”

Before she can push the door open, a doorman on the other side of it gets it for her, smiling at them politely. Pearl, like the charmer she is, motions for Violet to go ahead. Violet’s legs move before she can think better of it, her shock prompting her to do exactly like she’s told to. She immediately regrets her decision to not put too much effort into her outfit and looks, pondering whether her appearance is too casual to be shopping at a place such as this one. Pearl rests her palm on the small of Violet’s back, guiding her in.

The first thing Violet notices, for some reason, is the high ceiling, and she just stares up, trusting Pearl to make sure she doesn’t stumble or fall over. It takes a soft _hey_ from Pearl for Violet to finally stop gaping, and she regards her surroundings instead. The store isn’t too busy, although there are some customers scattered around and being attended to by dapper sales assistants. The interior is white and gold and brown, and pristine in a way that only a high-end, haute couture store could be. There are handbags on display here and there, and Violet spots a Neverfull, then a Speedy, and then one Alma.

“I know this is something I should’ve done in Paris probably, but we just weren’t scheduled for France anytime soon, and I really couldn’t wait, I’m sorry,” Pearl murmurs into Violet’s ear.

“You’re apologising for bringing me into a  Louis Vuitton store, baby?” Violet huffs in disbelief and Pearl laughs quietly.

A member of personnel approaches them, smiling beamingly. She’s got an Azur Eva hanging over her shoulder, and Violet stares at the discontinued purse longingly.

“Welcome to Louis Vuitton, ladies,” she greets them. “How can I assist you today?”

“I, um…” Violet starts before realising she has no idea what they came here for. She turns to Pearl for help.

“It’s your call, doll,” Pearl says. “I’m not telling you what to choose, you can pick whatever.”

“Whatever, huh?” Violet can’t help her teasing tone that breaks through despite her being still taken  aback and at a loss for any appropriate reaction.

“Yeah, but if you go over your budget, you’re paying yourself,” Pearl teases back.

“What’s my budget?”

Pearl just chuckles and nudges Violet toward the sales assistant. The woman turns around, clearly ready to lead Violet farther into the store, and Violet takes a couple steps before flipping around.

“Seriously, Pearl, what’s my budget?” she laughs. Pearl just waves her off with her effortlessly attractive smirk, and Violet sticks her tongue out quickly before catching up to the woman.

“My name is Clara and I am here to ensure your best Louis Vuitton experience today. What should you like to look at?” the woman asks her when they’re side by side, approaching the little staircase in the middle of the room leading to an upper level of  the store.

“Um, I actually, I didn’t know I’m being brought here so I’m a little lost,” Violet confesses.

“Oh, a surprise visit? Those are my favourite,  the joy is always so contagious!” Clara smiles. “Well, in this London location we’ve got a wide range of Louis Vuitton products. Are you interested in accessories, or handbags, or maybe womenswear?”

Violet worries her lower lip. It’s not like she doesn’t know their collection like she knows the back of her hand, and it’s not like her Louis Vuitton wishlist isn’t about three hundred items long, but she’s suddenly drawing blank, having forgot every single bag and shawl and pair of sunglasses she’s been dreaming about since she was thirteen.

“A handbag, definitely,” she says eventually. “I want a small cross-body purse, something that I can have with me on flights.”

“You’re a frequent flier? I figured your accents sounded American.”

“A stewardess.”

“That’s lovely. Any specific purse in mind, or should I just bring a couple models for you to see?” Clara asks, leading Violet toward one of the counters.

“I would like to see a Twist and a Favorite, I think,” Violet sounds more sure now.

The sales assistant nods and disappears somewhere, leaving Violet at the counter. She lets her gaze wander around, admires the stack of leather wallets in a glass box on the counter, then listens to a pair of customers next to her ask questions about the Neverfull bag they’re viewing. Her initial shock is starting to subside enough to make room for excitement that flutters in her stomach. She can’t believe Pearl wanted to do something this big for her, probably planned it way before today, too, but then again, she can’t really believe she is this surprised by Pearl doing something like this, because that’s exactly how she is — incredibly sweet and unselfish and more observant than Violet clearly gives her credit for.

“Okay, lovely,” Clara chirps, appearing from behind  Violet. “I got a  Favorite PM in Damier Ebene, since you said you wanted a smaller bag, but we do have a size bigger, too, and this is a Monogram Twist. This one is coated canvas and cowhide-leather, but we have Twist bags in other materials too.”

She places the bags on the counter and coaxes Violet to take a closer look. Violet reaches a hesitant hand and feathers her fingers across the material of the Favorite in front of her. It feels firm under her touch, a little bit like oilcloth. The item is beautiful, they both are, and Violet can’t comprehend she’s actually touching one in order to make a decision to purchase.

“Can I..?”

“Yeah, there’s a mirror over there if you want to model,” Clara points.

Violet picks the purses up carefully and walks over to the floor-length mirror. They’re both breathtakingly beautiful, but while she loves the soft leather and the metal chain of the Twist, she is slightly apprehensive about the large golden LV on the front of the bag, and she finds herself gravitating toward the more discreet Favorite. 

She returns to the counter and hands the bags back to Clara who blabbers on about their characteristics while introducing Violet the insides of both purses. Violet listens closely, but her heart is kind of already set.

“I love them both, but I think I’m leaning toward Favorite more. What’s the difference between PM and MM?” she says.

“1.5 and 1.2 inches in length, the width is the same for both sizes,” Clara replies without missing a beat.

“Okay, keep it PM, please, but I think I’d like to see it in Azur, it’ll look nice against my uniform.”

Clara takes off again, and Violet finds Pearl  with her gaze. The other is still on the lower level, right where she stayed to wait for Violet. Someone has brought her a glass of champagne and she’s sipping it while she’s engaging in a lively conversation with another member of personnel, and they both seem entertained, motioning with their hands and laughing every now and again. The guy is handsome, the kind of boy who models suits in Boss campaigns and allegedly drops panties just by rolling the sleeves of his button-downs up, but Violet can’t stop staring at Pearl. She’s radiant, so fucking beautiful it makes Violet’s chest ache hollowly, and she suspects the only way for her to fill that gaping hole would be by holding Pearl close close close closer, so close that it’d blur the lines and boundaries between them. The guy says something and Pearl does that thing where she chuckles and shakes her head, like she questions her own amusement but can’t conceal it, and Violet’s heart grows so big it punctures her lungs, making them collapse, and she can’t breathe properly.

“Here you are, ma’am,” Violet hears on her left. She  forces herself to look away from Pearl. Clara is back,  holding out a bag for Violet to take.

She takes it and brushes her fingers against the white and grey check of the canvas bemusedly, It’s gorgeous, and she wants it, wants it so bad it mutes the little voice inside her telling her she shouldn’t accept such an expensive gift when Pearl will probably regret it sooner or later. For all her fantasies about being spoiled like this, it’s frankly funny how now that it’s happening, she feels guilty for not being modest enough to decline.

“I want it,” she surrenders finally.

“Lovely,” Clara says. “Is your girlfriend paying for this?”

“She’s not my…” Violet begins but cuts herself off. “She’s… Yeah, she is.”

She hands the purse back and Clara motions for her to follow her again, making her way to another counter, this one located on the lower store level. Pearl spots them, so she says something to the guy she’s been chatting with and strolls toward Violet, still holding her glass and looking like the goddess Violet is convinced she is.

“You ready?” she asks, and Violet hums her response.

Pearl is handed an iPad to fill in her information for the customer  register, and while they discuss the payment with the sales assistant, Violet notices a little stand with bag charms hanging on it. She can’t resist running her fingers through them, which causes them to jingle against each other and makes Pearl check what she’s doing.

“Are those for bags?” she muses.

“Yeah, they’re like bag charms and key holders.”

“You like them?”

“They’re pretty,” Violet admits.

“Pick one.”

Violet widens her eyes, “Pearl, they’re like… How much are these?”

“Starting at £185, ma’am,” Clara provides.

“You heard the woman,” Violet says.

“And you heard me. Pick one, it’ll go nicely with your new purse,” Pearl says in a tone that suggests she’s not backing down.

Not wanting to cause a scene, Violet tentatively browses through the charms while Clara gets her a drink, too. They’re all cute, and Violet can’t wrap her head around the fact that she’s casually sipping champagne while picking accessories for her new Louis Vuitton bag. Pearl asks for her email address, claiming that she herself has no use for a newsletter, and then gives the iPad and her passport to Clara.

“Make up your mind yet?” she queries, hooking her chin on Violet’s shoulder to peak over it, and circling her arm around Violet’s middle.

“I think this one is adorable, and I also really like this one,” Violet says and shows her the two alternatives she’s narrowed her options to.

“I like this one,” Pearl says, taking one of the two between her index and middle fingers. It’s shaped as the classic Monogram Flower motif, a dainty golden thing with layers of brass, leather, and canvas. It’s not too extravagant, sophisticated in a simple way.

“Yeah, I think I like it better, too,” Violet agrees softly.

“Could we get two of these, too?” Pearl asks Clara.

She nods and rings the items in, telling Pearl the total and charging the card Pearl offers to her. She then informs them she’s going to pack their purchases and disappears somewhere again, leaving them with their drinks.

Pearl clings her glass against Violet’s playfully, and Violet smiles at her.

“Who’s the second charm for?” she asks.

“Myself. I thought it would be nice to have a trinket to remind me of this. I’ll hang it on my keys or my airport badge,” Pearl explains.

Violet wants to make a remark of how Pearl’s new _trinket_ just cost her over two hundred British pounds, if only to ignore the way her stomach twists at the implication that Pearl finds this moment important enough to get herself a physical, permanent reminder of it, but she decides making witty comments isn’t exactly an appropriate thank you for any of this.

Clara reappears shortly with their shopping bag, walking them to the door and only handing it to Violet once they’ve reached it. She bids them farewell with a beaming smile and the doorman holds the door open for them as they exit. The ephemeral November sun has already dipped over the peak of its curt life, and the air is dusky and feels much cooler than it did when they entered the store. Violet shivers a little, and Pearl hides her hands in her jacket pockets as they begin moving along down the street  in the direction they came from. They reach the corner of the building when Violet tugs on Pearl’s  sleeve to stop her.

She does, turning to face Violet, and Violet pulls her closer and places her arms on Pearl’s shoulders, still holding her brown paper bag in one hand.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she whispers.

“I can think of a way or two,” Pearl smirks instantly.

“Oh my God, Pearl!” Violet huffs. “I’m trying to be all cute and sensual here, don’t ruin it!”

“I’ll ruin you,” Pearl deadpans.

 _You already have_ , Violet almost says, but she manages to swallow it before it spills. She just presses her forehead against Pearl’s, their proximity saving her from having to maintain their eye contact.

“Idiot,” she says.

“Good thing you like that,” Pearl says.

“Just,” Violet murmurs. “Just, thank you, yeah?”

Pearl shakes her hands free and slips them under Violet’s long, unbuttoned overcoat and into the back pockets of her jeans, “I promise you the pleasure was all mine. D’you wanna get coffee or something?”

“Yeah, I’m getting kinda cold and tired, I could do with something warm to drink.”

“There’s a Costa a couple streets away toward Tottenham Court Road, should we go there?”

Violet lets out an agreeing sound and Pearl kisses her before detaching herself from her. As they start walking again, Violet’s lips tingle, but that’s probably because she’s been licking them too much and now the windy weather is chapping them. She allows Pearl to trail off half a step ahead of her, and swings her shopping bag in the air, her step oddly light despite heavy exhaustion that settles somewhere right between her throat and chest.

They locate the coffee shop relatively easily, and Violet insists on paying. Pearl just laughs at her and orders a ton of extras in her hot chocolate, assuring Violet that she can handle all that whipped cream and it won’t  make her sick. They find seats by the window, and Pearl starts a furious texting match as soon as she’s connected to Wi-FI, while Violet snaps a quick photo of her paper bag, propped on the table against the glass, and sends it to Valentina with a simple caption of _London isn’t treating me too bad so far, x_.

“Kameron just texted me saying they’re going to Shakespoons for dinner, wanna join?” Pearl asks after a while of content silence and a light game of footsie.

“What the hell is a Shakespoons?” Violet chuckles confusedly.

Pearl breathes out a laugh and puts her phone down, “It’s a Shakespeare themed Wetherspoon’s in Holborn, Farrah was once enlightened with this nickname after drinking two pitchers on her own, and it kinda stuck ever since.”

Violet offers her a tiny smile, hoping Pearl didn’t notice the slight delay in her reaction. It’s been a little over two months, and she still discovers there’s more stories they all share. Sometimes she wonders if she’ll ever have heard all of them, if they’ll let her in so thoroughly that she’ll understand every single joke and reference. She wonders if one day she’ll be a part of one of their stories, a punchline to one of the anecdotes they share with such fondness and affection. She wonders if she’s here on borrowed time, around for a free trial and a taste of what it feels like to click with them before she’s told they’re profoundly sorry but unfortunately she’s not what they’ve been looking for after all. She feels a familiar itch that urges her to stand up and leave, get as far away from everything as she physically can, so  she hooks her foot behind Pearl’s ankle to stay put instead.

“We should join everyone for dinner, especially after the way we left them behind at Heathrow,” she says.

“Say what you want, but I wasn’t about to suffer through an hour on public transport when you were standing there looking like sex on legs,” Pearl says lowly enough for only Violet to hear. “It was their own choice to take the tube instead of the cab with us.”

Violet’s cheeks feel very warm suddenly, and she mumbles something incomprehensible, casting her eyes down to busy herself with her phone. Pearl just manoeuvres her feet so that Violet’s is between them, kicking Violet’s heel with her toes lightly, and goes back to texting. Valentina has replied, demanding an explanation in a very Valentina way — all sickly sweet and classy, but with an almost psychotic note of impatience still present, and Violet wonders how she always without a fail manages to convey all that in short written messages.

They engage in idle chat while they finish their beverages, and then they make their way back to the hotel, unhurriedly enjoying the darkening London evening and each others company. They take a moment to freshen up, and Violet tries to climb into bed to _rest her eyes just a little_ , but Pearl picks her up and doesn’t let her, claiming that she knows Violet will fall asleep the second her head touches the pillow. She kisses the pout off Violet’s lips and slaps her ass, which elicits a pained purr out of Violet and makes Pearl’s expression immediately turn a twisted shade of intrigued.

Violet hovers over the shopping bag for a while, trying to decide whether she should take her new baby out tonight, but she decides against it. She wants to take her time unpacking and examining the purse, and she doesn’t wish to keep Pearl or the others waiting, so she puts it on the table she was being bent over not too long ago and leaves it there. They knock on Farrah’s door on their way out to let her know they’re good to go, and she informs them Brianna and Kameron will meet them there because they’ve been iceskating at the Somerset House, and are thus coming from the opposite direction.

They run into the Michaels’ at the pub entrance, and Kameron gallops toward then, enveloping Violet and Farrah in a huge hug as soon as she reaches them, while Brianna follows behind, keeping her pace less rushed. They pile into the pub, greeting the members of staff on their way to find a table for them, and Brianna distributes the menus as soon as they’re all seated.

“Is Michelle not coming?” Pearl asks.

“Nah, you know how she gets about England, she’s always too busy doing stuff and meeting her friends,” Kameron hums.

“Good,” Farrah chimes in. “I’m having Purple Rain and I don’t need Michelle going all mama bear on my ass tonight.”

Violet listens to them blabber while she skims through the menu. Pub food is usually too greasy and heavy for her, but she hasn’t eaten anything all day and she knows she has to have something to prevent herself from feeling faint. She decides to ask for the soup of the day, deeming it’ll be light enough for her not to feel sick after it, and offers to help Farrah when she heads to the counter to place their order.

Farrah is impressively good at remembering everyone’s food and drinks of choice, and all Violet has to worry about is her own soup. The guy serving them is a funny, vibrant character with an accent so thick Violet has trouble understanding him sometimes. He hits it off with Farrah immediately, and Violet is left giggling at their mad exchange.

“How many glasses can I get you for the pitcher?” he asks after placing a tray of two beers, a Pepsi, and one vodka cranberry in front of them on the counter.

Farrah shoots him a blank look before calmly replying, “Just a straw, please.”

The guy just cackles and places one glass and a pitcher of something that looks like an unhealthy amount of purple food dye on the counter. That’s when Farrah’s phone rings, and she checks the caller I.D. quickly before waving the device at Violet.

“I need to take this one,” she says and scurries away, leaving Violet to handle their drinks.

“Um,” Violet says, even though Farrah is already out of earshot.

“You alright there, ma’am?” the guy asks her. “May I help you?”

“Oh no, thank you, I think I’ll manage fine,” Violet assures him while trying to balance the tray of drinks in one hand and Farrah’s pitcher in another.

She only has to make it halfway through the room, because as soon as Kameron spots her approach, she jumps up. She probably says something about her, too, because Pearl, who’s facing away from Violet, follows suit, and they both race to help her. She laughs at their chivalry, calling them her knights in shining armour, and Kameron gently bumps  their shoulders together while Pearl puts her hand on the small of Violet’s back like she tends to do more and more lately.

They fall into an easy conversation about their days while they wait for their food and for Farrah to come back. Brianna affectionately mocks Kameron for her inability to stand upright on skates, telling them how she spent almost an hour just gripping the edge of the ring desperately and still managing to fall over at least three times where she stood. Kameron just giggles in a flustered manner and informs her they can’t all be as graceful as she is. The food is brought to them before Farrah makes it back, and Pearl has sneakily eaten half her chips by the time she finally appears.

“Sorry, it was Aja,” she says like that’s self-explanatory, combing her fingers through her mane to get it out of her face and sitting down.

“How is she?” Brianna enquires, taking a sip of her Pepsi.

“She’s good,” Farrah hums absently and reaches over the table for her pitcher to pour herself a glassful. “She said she was trying to book a table in some new fancy restaurant in Soho but she apparently accidentally booked the whole place for a night. Told me to ask you if you wanna come since she already paid for it and can’t be bothered to cancel the reservation. It’s next week.”

“Sure, if we’re off that night, why not,” Kameron says.

“You guys?” Farrah asks, turning to Pearl and Violet.

“Oh,” Violet says.

“We’re not… We don’t…” Pearl speaks faster than her usual drawl.

“I’ll probably be busy all week next week, I promised Aqua she could use me as a model for her coursework, and we also wanted to clean the apartment properly before the holiday season,” Violet says.

“I have training most days so I don’t think I’ll make it, either,” Pearl says. Violet tries to lock eyes with her, but Pearl is pointedly not looking in her direction.

Farrah shrugs and refills her glass that Violet didn’t even notice her emptying, “Whatever. Your loss, they apparently serve killer pasta.”

The chat derails to other subjects from there. Violet puts a palm on Pearl’s thigh right above her knee, but Pearl deliberately keeps her gaze on everything and anything except for Violet’s face. It takes her half a pint to ease into Violet’s touch enough for tension to leave her muscles, and she’s three quarters through with her beer when she finally puts her own hand on top of Violet’s.

At some point Kameron stands up to buy them another round, and then Pearl gets another. Farrah convinces Violet to share a pitcher of Blue Lagoon with her, and Violet feels herself grow tipsy after a couple glasses. It makes her feel warm, but not as warm as Pearl stroking her knuckles and playing with her fingers distractedly under the table while she rests her head on Violet’s shoulder.

Violet is buzzing pleasantly by the time they decide to leave the pub. She’s safely snuggled between Farrah and Pearl, her arms linked with the both of them on either side of her as they stand outside the building and wait for Kameron and Pearl to finish their cigarettes. Brianna keeps stealing drags from Kameron’s smoke, but declines when Pearl offers her one of her own.

“What next?” Farrah hiccups and presses her face against the sleeve of Violet’s overcoat.

“I just wanna get some snacks and go back to the hotel, my body aches from all the skating,” Kameron whines.

“You barely even skated, unless you count dragging yourself down the edge and screaming _Look, Brianna, no hands…. Oh shit, ouch_ ,” Brianna quirks an eyebrow.

“Hey, there was no hands, you just didn’t see it,” Kameron says defensively, but there’s hints of joy in her voice.

“I second that idea, I’m exhausted,” Pearl hums.

“Me too,” Farrah says, her face still attached to Violet’s upper arm, and Violet just nods.

“Sainsbury’s?” Brianna suggests, receiving a round of various agreeing noises in response.

Violet doesn’t really pay attention to the route they take, instead concentrating on the way the lingering smell of cigarettes mixes with Pearl’s perfume that all her clothes seem to harbour and on the feeling  of Pearl’s body so close to her. Entering a supermarket after drinking is always a peculiar feeling, like those two things shouldn’t even be able to exist in the same dimension. Kameron gets a shopping cart and Farrah falls into it, squealing gleefully and flailing her legs in the air while Kameron pushes her and Brianna pleads them to stop before someone gets hurt. 

“Wait, wait, wait, stop,” Farrah shouts when they’re passing a wall with gift wraps and ribbons. “Stop, Kamy, I see bows, I need a bow. The souvenir needs to be packed.”

Kameron digs her heels in, stopping the slide of the cart abruptly and evoking a loud, excited shriek out of Farrah. She tries to ungracefully climb out but doesn’t succeed without Kameron, who lifts her by her armpits like she’s just a toddler and puts her on the ground. Farrah seems completely unfazed, smoothing the faux fur of her coat with her palm and heading toward the ribbon display.

She picks up one of those 3D star-shaped Christmas gift bows and puts it on top of her head, turning to everyone. It’s golden and so tiny it is basically barely visible in her luscious locks.

“How ‘bout this one?” she says happily.

“You really went for the smallest one, eh?” Brianna chuckles. “It gets lost in your hair."

Farrah exaggerates a childish frown, looking so cute it’s very hard to take her seriously.

“Aw, don’t be sad, Farrah,” Pearl drawls. “Maybe you can get two of those and use them as pasties instead.”

Farrah laughs and moves the bow, resting it on her nipple through her clothes, “Could you imagine?”

“Just wait on the desk wearing those and nothing else,” Brianna says. “I guarantee it’ll get you laid.”

“To be fair dressing up as a souvenir always gets me laid,” Farrah contemplates, grabbing a bigger star and balancing it on her head.

“True, but I’m sure Storms will appreciate this new twist,” Kameron says and Farrah lets out a high-pitched giggle scream in response.

“Wait,” Violet utters. “Are you sleeping with Aja, Farrah?”

There’s a fat moment of silence that could only be described as stunned before both Farrah and Kameron start laughing, Pearl presses her fingers against her brow with a head shake and Brianna just says _bye_ and walks away dramatically.

“What,” Pearl says.

“She isn’t? Oh damn, sorry, Farrah,” Violet feels stupid and flustered.

“She is,” Pearl says, still shaking her head. “Are you seriously telling me you only now realised it?”

“I… I don’t know, how was I supposed to know?” Violet wonders.

“Oh my God,” Farrah heaves.

“Wow, Chachki’s truly been too busy thirsting after Liaison to notice anything else around her. I’m impressed,” Kameron says.

“In her defence I’m hot and also good in bed,” Pearl shrugs.

“How long have I been oblivious?” Violet asks.

“We’ve been together for over a year, so… Approximately this whole time, give or take,” Farrah says through her giggles.

“Oh my God,” Violet covers her eyes with her palm.

Pearl yanks her closer and hugs her tightly, pressing her lips behind Violet’s ear.

“You’re so dumb, babe,” she whispers.

Violet just lets out an embarrassed whimper and hides her face in the crook of Pearl’s neck. Pearl strokes her hair gently. Farrah and Kameron have enough mercy to stop teasing Violet about her obliviousness, and Brianna doesn’t comment on it either when she finally comes back from wherever she was. Farrah chooses her bows, explaining to Violet that instead of bringing Aja gifts, they have a silly joke of Farrah gluing ribbons to herself and calling herself a souvenir.

After that they make their way through the grocery aisles, filling their cart with different snacks and drinks as they go. Farrah gets herself a whole cheesecake, informing them that she deserves it because she’s the only one who’s not getting laid on these layovers, even though it’s not like anyone’s doing much to stop her.

“Are we all good to go now?” Brianna asks as Kameron is dropping a lapful of crisps into the cart.

“I want cookies, too,” Kameron says.

“Yes, get these cookies, baby,” Violet blurts out before she knows what she’s saying. It makes the rest of the group burst out into a loud laughter.

“What the fuck, Violet?” Brianna does her signature clap-laughter and Violet has never felt this validated.

“It’s just, it’s something Aquaria says a lot and I don’t know,” Violet explains, her own amusement making the corners of her mouth turn up.

“Chachki always says the funniest shit when you least expect it,” Kameron snorts. “I can never get enough of your sense of humour, it’s so wild. I love you, bitch.”

The compliment feels nice, probably much nicer than it should or was supposed to. It always catches Violet off guard whenever one of them says something like this, makes her feel like she’s wanted around and valued for something and important to their group, no matter how many times they’ve done it. It hasn’t been an easy process, allowing herself to be pulled in, invited to be a part of their dynamic, and she still doesn’t think she’s made it far past the threshold, but she also hasn’t been like this around anyone except for maybe Shangela in the longest time, she hasn’t really been comfortable enough to blab stupid stuff without thinking and relax into people like this, and it feels surprisingly nice. She smiles at them gingerly, and they’re all right there, grinning back, and it’s not something she ever thought she’d need, but she doesn’t at all mind having been handed it nonetheless.

It’s nearing eleven when they finally make it back to the hotel. Pearl turns the telly on, keeping the volume low and sets the lights on dim, so that the room is barely illuminated prior to flopping onto the bed with a bag of potato crisps. The street outside the window is still busy and noisy, and it has started raining, the hefty raindrops drumming the glass rhythmically. It all makes the room cosy in a way that Violet never wants to break. She settles next to Pearl and toys with a loose thread hanging off of Pearl’s shirt until she gets bored and steals the bag from Pearl’s lap to make room for herself. Before long, Pearl flips them so that Violet is lying on her back and Pearl herself is on top of her, and they make out lazily until Violet’s lids feel heavy and her heart feels light.

*

Pearl is still asleep when Violet wakes up the following morning. Their bodies are tangled just the same Violet remembers them being when she fell asleep, her face buried under Pearl’s chin and her arm thrown over Pearl in a place where her waist dips the deepest, and Pearl’s leg Placed over Violet’s. She spends a while outlining Pearl’s slightly parted lips with her fingertip, and then she climbs out of the bed carefully, doing her best to not wake Pearl up.

She’s just about to get into the shower when Pearl knocks on the bathroom door and asks if she can join her, voice still low and husky with sleep. The shower stall is a teeny bit too cramped for two grown women to be sharing it, but Violet can’t really find it in herself to complain about Pearl’s breasts pressing up against her. Pearl gently pushes her until her back hits the wall, and the way the cold tiles feel against her skin, especially her bruising bum, combined with the hot stream of water that still keeps hitting her front causes a strangled moan to escape her as she shivers.

“You okay?” Pearl demands immediately.

“Good, it’s just, the contrast in temperatures feels… interesting,” Violet assures her.

“Is that so,” Pearl purrs, her eyebrow cocked, before bowing her head to suck a mark on Violet’s neck. Violet knows Brianna will give her hell and then some if she doesn’t manage  to cover that with her scarf properly, but she also instantly forgets it because Pearl’s hand is travelling up her inner thigh.

They spend a hot minute in the shower, but really, Pearl should’ve predicted that telling Violet how pretty she looks like that, on her knees in front of her would only stir Violet up more. It’s not like they’re in any particular hurry, anyway, and it’s unvoiced, but there’s a mutual understanding of just letting themselves and one another enjoy the time together without any pressure. When they do finally get out, Pearl wraps Violet in a ridiculously fluffy and ridiculously luxurious hotel towel and sits her on the countertop just to make out with her for a little while longer. Violet thinks she should feel tired of being kissed this much, but she really isn’t, can’t actually seem to get enough by any means.

They get ready, drawing breaths and confessions from each other’s lips every chance they get. When Violet’s done with her face and hair, but still in her underwear, she jumps on the bed with  the elegant square box she’s finally fished from the brown shopping bag still propped on the table. The box is the same shade of brown, and it’s simplistic in a sophisticated fashion, plain and clean safe for the black letters running across it’s bottom side and the thin leather string tied around it to keep the lid fixed. Violet crosses her legs and slowly enjoys unpacking her new purse, takes it out of the box and its dustbag and holds it admiringly. The scent of the canvas is still strong, and it’s shiny and feels firm under her palms. She knows the material will soften with time, will lose its stiffness, but right now Violet likes how it looks brand new.

“I still can’t believe you got me such an expensive gift,” she says, closing the strap in her fist and sliding it down the light leather.

“Well, you know what they say,” Pearl mumbles into the thick fabric of the pullover she’s currently in the middle of putting on.

“What do they say?” Violet prompts, resting the purse on the bedsheets next to herself and uncrossing her legs to throw them over the edge.

“You’re not getting anything for Christmas or your birthday,” Pearl smirks.

Violet laughs and stands up, heading for her suitcase to get dressed, “You know what, that’s fair. What are we doing today? What should I wear?”

“Wear something comfortable. I thought we could just have a little bit of touristy time, you know, just walk around and enjoy the city,” Pearl says.

Violet quickly browses through those few items of clothing she’s brought with her, stopping at a simple black knee-length dress that she knows accentuates her waist just so. She grabs a garter belt, coquettishly turning her back to Pearl as she secures the hooks, and then she slips into the dress. Pearl is right there, helping her zip up, her hands rough on Violet’s body, confirming that Violet’s teasing did not, indeed, go unnoticed.

“Speaking of, what are you doing for Christmas?” Pearl asks, picking up their previous conversation.

“I dunno,” Violet shrugs. “I know Shangie is travelling somewhere warm with her friends, and Aqua is going back to Philly. They both asked me to come with, but I don’t want to intrude on their time with family and friends. Mom probably wants me to come visit her and dad in the old town, but I think I’ll just stay at the apartment. You know, order takeout, spend the day in pyjamas, maybe check if Val wants to get wine drunk in the evening. Why?”

“Want an excuse to not do any of that?” Pearl says mischievously.

“What are you proposing?” Violet asks, kneeling in front of her luggage to find the pair of stockings she swears she packed.

“Well, every year they basically look for people willing to work during the holidays so they don’t have to force those who really don’t want to. I already told Aja I’m fine working Christmas so that I could get New Year’s off. Come with?”

Violet looks over her shoulder, smiling so wide it hurts her cheeks, “Are you asking me to spend Christmas with you, cap?”

“Uh-huh,” Pearl grins back. “Lemme fly you to Sydney. We can order tons of room service and spend the day in pyjamas. Or naked, that’s cool, too. I like you naked.”

“I’d love that,” Violet gets back on her feet, clenching her sheer stockings in her fist. “Help me with these?”

Pearl nods and Violet hands her the stockings, hitching up her skirt and sitting on the edge of the bed. She lies down on the unmade sheets as Pearl gathers the nylon up on one of them, and lifts her leg. Pearl holds the stocking out for  Violet to slip her foot into, and rolls it up her shin, past her knee, and then over Violet’s thigh, pushing the dress up as she goes. Once she’s pulled it on completely, she runs her hand up Violet’s leg as if to smoothen the material, and then secures the three clasps at the end of each suspender.

Violet gracefully lifts another leg, allowing Pearl to finish clothing her. There’s something extremely hot about the way Pearls doing this, expertly and patiently and carefully not to snag the thin nylon, and Violet feels arousal building up somewhere in the pit of her stomach. When Pearl has attached the suspenders to the welt, she rests her fingers on the strip of Violet’s bare skin left between the stocking and her panties, and Violet can’t contain herself, has to hook one of her legs behind Pearl’s back and pull her closer.

Pearl puts her palms on either side of Violet’s head, leaning on them and hovering over her. She presses her knee between Violet’s legs lightly, and the move makes Violet realise how wet she’s gotten the crotch of her panties already. She flicks her hips toward Pearl, desperate to gain some friction. Pearl responds by rolling her knee, slow and torturous, her eyes fixed on Violet’s smugly.

“Pearl…” Violet pleads, her clit throbbing with the need to be touched.

“What is it, baby?” Pearl says. Her voice sounds attentive, as if she genuinely doesn’t know what Violet is asking for, but really wants to hear it.

“Touch me,” Violet whines.

A sly smile splits Pearl’s face. She drops on her forearm, shifting her weight to one side completely, and tucks some of Violet’s hair behind her ear, then drags her fingertip down Violet’s nose.

“Like this, doll?”

“Lower,” Violet pants.

Pearl runs light fingers over Violet's lips, her chin, down her throat and chest, between her breasts, stopping right below them and flattening her palm against the fabric of  Violet’s dress.

“Here, love?” she says, and her innocent act would almost be believable if she weren’t rocking her knee against Violet’s pussy unhurriedly and rhythmically this whole time.

“Lower, Pearl, please,” Violet cries out quietly.

Pearl slides her hand down Violet’s stomach, reaches her hipbone and then makes a beeline for Violet’s thigh.

“This low enough, princess?”

“Pearl, higher.”

Pearl moves her knee away. Her fingers waltz back up, and she finally cups Violet’s pussy. Violet’s hips twitch at the much needed contact.

“Here, kitten? Is this good?” Pearl asks, like the moan Violet just let out wasn’t enough of an indication.

“Yes, yes, please, more,” Violet whimpers. She can smell her own lust in the air, and it thrills her even more. It’s mortifying and exciting, to be this pitifully eager and desperate for someone.

“Tell me what to do, doll,” Pearl coaxes, starting to rub her fingers against Violet’s cunt through her panties. She doesn’t really need Violet telling her anything, she knows what’s good for Violet, knows how to handle her. This is all purely for her own entertainment. It turns her on, hearing Violet speak her desires out loud, making Violet beg for it like the slut she is for Pearl and Pearl only.

“Fuck me, please, Pearly,” Violet chokes on her words in her rush to get them out. “Please, I need you to fuck me, I need… I need you to make me come.”

“I will, baby, I will make you come so hard,” Pearl coos. “Just not right now.”

And with that she pushes herself up, straightening her stance and abandoning the mess she’s made of Violet on the bed.

Violet sits up jerkily and squeezes her thighs together in frustration, “Pearl?”

“Come on, then, doll, we’ve got places to be, things to see,” Pearl says nonchalantly.

 “You’ve got people to do,” Violet argues. “A person, more precisely. She’s me. I’m the person.”

“Violet,” Pearl says warningly, and the tone she uses makes Violet instantly stop her protesting and stand up. She shoots Pearl a dejected leer, then turns her back to Pearl and starts undoing the clasps on her garter belt.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Pearl snaps.

“Changing my undies, I’m fucking soaked,” Violet sneers defiantly. She’s still very much hot and bothered, and she does not like it at all, even though she knows she’ll love it later when Pearl will finally have her way with her.

Before she knows it, Pearl  is behind her, grabbing her wrists and twisting them behind her back. Violet fights it a little, mostly to piss Pearl off and thus rile her up. The trick is to annoy Pearl enough for her to take her frustration out on Violet while still knowing where to draw the line, and Violet has learned exactly what buttons to push to get the best result.

“Don’t you dare,” Pearl hisses into her ear lowly. “I want you to feel how fucking needy you are for me. I want you to walk around knowing you’re dripping wet, all because you want me so fucking bad you can’t help your slutty little self.”

She nibbles Violet’s earlobe after that, and despite herself Violet leans back to press up against Pearl’s front with a tiny sigh.

“Will you be a good girl for me today, Vi?” Pearl whispers, loosening her hold on Violet’s wrists but not letting go just yet.

“Yes, daddy,” Violet says breathily.

“Good,” Pearl says and flips Violet around. ”Now be a doll and start by doing your suspenders back up and then texting Aja you want to work Christmas.”

Violet does just that, and then she packs her Favorite and makes sure she doesn’t look as wrecked and horny on the outside as she feels on the inside. She can swear her pussy is pulsing with her desire, but that, and the fact that they both are very aware of this, only turns her on more. She is a little bit lightheaded on it, and she even considers sneaking into the bathroom to get herself off before they go, but it’s once again as if Pearl can read her mind, because she grips Violet’s upper arm and walks her out of the room, informing her that she should _Forget about it, forget about even trying to touch yourself before I tell you to_.

They have a quick breakfast at Pret A Manger, and even though Violet complains that this wasn’t the kind of eating out she would have liked to engage in this morning, by the end of it her heart beats in her chest again instead of between her legs, and she is considerably calmer, feeling like she’ll maybe survive this day. She even lets Pearl thread their fingers together when they exit the coffee shop. Last night’s rain is now gone, the only evidence of it even happening, the puddles on the pavement reflecting the rays of sun shining so brightly on the clear sky.

Pearl suggests they walk places, since the day is too nice and sunny to be wasted underground. They take the same route they did the day before, but pass Holborn station and go all the way to Aldwych instead, turning to Covent Garden from there. Pearl wants to do a detour at Ladurée, so they stop by and buy a box of macarons. After that Violet drags Pearl to 99 St. Martin’s Lane where they get their coffees.

Trafalgar Square is crowded. Nevertheless they find a spot to sit not too far away from the National Gallery. The sun really is a tad too cold to stay sat on a stone bench for longer than just a short while, but they do it regardless, stealing warmth off of their coffees and the closeness of their bodies whilst they enjoy the confectionery. Pearl hand-feeds Violet a couple, and Violet finally gets her shot at revenge when she manages to suck Pearl’s fingertips into her mouth with an exaggerated, obscene sound. Pearl just rapidly pulls her hand away and glares at Violet angrily, but the way she crosses her legs after that is more revealing of her true feelings.

“Can we go in for a little while?” Pearl asks soon after that, motioning at the magnificent gallery building.

“What’s more touristy than a museum, right?” Violet chuckles, all tongue in cheek and lighthearted.

“Don’t mock it, Chach,” Pearl says with a roll of her eyes, standing up. “I actually like this place, I visit almost every time I’m here.”

“Yeah?” Violet muses, mimicking Pearl’s action and readjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. “DO you bring your sex dolls here often, too?”

Pearl quirks a disapproving eyebrow at Violet and collects their paper cups to throw them away, “No, Violet, you’re the first lady I’ve taken with me. I’ve always come alone before.”

Violet worries the inside of her lower lip between her teeth, careful not to smudge her lipstick, and watches as Pearl swoops up a now empty pastry box and dumps the items in a trash can nearby. Neither of them says anything for a while. They just climb the stairs leading to the Gallery and enter hand in hand, Pearl just quarter a step ahead to navigate them through the space she’s clearly so familiar with.

Cliché as it is, Violet spends more time studying Pearl than she does the paintings. It’s enticing to look at, the way Pearl’s whole body reacts to what she’s seeing. Here, within the walls lined with artwork in bulky frames, Pearl suddenly becomes more expressive than Violet has ever witnessed her before. Each time they stop in front of another painting, Violet’s eyes are involuntarily drawn to Pearl — to the stretch of her neck when she cocks her head, to the furrow of her brow that smoothens out, sometimes gradually, sometimes rapidly, to the way she sinks her fingers into her hair, pushing it out of her face and resting her palm on the top of her head before dropping it to touch her mouth, to the way her eyes sparkle and the way she keeps licking her lips.

“Did you know that during the World War II, they had to remove all the paintings and ship them away, but people would crave the nations beloved art so bad that they started a tradition of bringing one painting back each month and displaying it during daytime to lift the spirits?” Pearl says when they’re stopped by a Rembrandt. “This one was actually what started it.”

“No, I did not,” Violet admits. “That’s very sweet somehow.”

“Isn’t it? I think it’s so telling. Of art, that is, of its importance. London was under blitz, and people would risk their lives coming here, to, like, listen to music and see one piece of their national collection, of their national pride. Its funny, you’d expect them to have been concentrated on the shit going on around them to the point where they wouldn’t be thinking about getting their fill of culture, but all they really needed was a bit of beauty in the ugliest of times,” Pearl trails off.

“You love this,” Violet blurts out. It’s not really a question, just a general observation, and she didn’t necessarily mean to voice it, but there it is now, hanging in the air like a less perfected, less sophisticated caricature of the beauty they’re surrounded by.

“The painting?” Pearl turns to look at Violet and smiles. “I mean, it’s a nice portrait. Not my personal favourite, but I think it’s  gorgeously done.”

“No, I mean,” Violet says and motions around vaguely with her hand. “Art. You’re really into art, aren’t you? I didn’t know. Do you… Do you paint yourself?”

“Sometimes,” Pearl hums, almost melancholic. “Not as much as I’d like to, anymore, but yeah, I do enjoy art immensely. My tats are actually my own design.”

“I didn’t know,” Violet repeats. She’s not sure if she means the painting part, or the tattoo part, or something completely else. She’s not sure if she means she barely knows Pearl, doesn’t really know anything of real importance, hasn’t learned anything at all.

“Can I show you something?” Pearl says excitedly, taking Violet’s hand. Violet just about manages to nod before she’s being pulled through the maze of rooms.

They circle about half the building, it feels, before Pearl slows down and then finally stops, grinning at Violet nervously like she’s expecting a verdict or something. Violet looks at her questioningly, and Pearl points at the painting in front of them with a tilt of her head.

“Is this your favourite?” Violet asks. She’s whispering for no apparent reason whatsoever.

“It is,” Pearl whispers back conspiratorially. “It’s probably one of my favourite paintings in the whole world.”

Violet reaches out her hand, brushing the backs of her fingers against the plague next to the frame on the wall. _The Thames below Westminster_ , it says, _Claude Monet, about 1871_. It’s tiny, only about twenty inches, Violet guesses, and it’s hung above Sisley’s _The Watering Place at Marly-le-Roi_ , the two pieces not exactly matching but complimenting each other in a unique fashion. It’s pretty, a misty landscape portraying the river Thames and the House of Parliament drowning in fog in the background. It’s not wild, stimulating senses aggressively; on the contrary, its colours are what Violet would describe as calming, almost soothing, and she doesn’t know much about art, but she believes she maybe understands why Pearl likes this particular one.

“I love it,” she says.

“You do?” Pearl asks, wistful, as if it’s the most important thing ever, as if it really matters to her, as if Violet approving of this makes any sort of difference.

“I do,” Violet confirms solemnly, lifting an arm to caress Pearl’s bicep. “I can see why it’s your favourite.”

Pearl breaks into a beam, the row of her ridiculously white teeth flashing as her lips stretch lazily. Violet wants to kiss it off her face, not dirtily, not recklessly; she wants to do it softly, affectionately, slowly until Pearl is sighing and panting into the contact, her chest rising and falling prominently, her clever fingers tangled in Violet’s hair loosely, her body responsive in a way that is more than just sex and getting off and ticking off items from the list that includes every place except for New York. Violet wants and wants and wants, and she’s not sure what it is that she wants so badly, is too afraid to try and define it, so she lets it burn somewhere between her ribs, in a space inside her she can’t quite locate, she lets it burn and doesn’t act on it, instead curling her fingers on Pearl’s elbow and returning the smile.

“Thank you,” Pearl says. It doesn’t matter, but for a second Violet pretends like it could. “Shall we get going, then?”

“What? We’ve only seen, like, five rooms. There’s surely thousands of paintings to see,” Violet questions.

Pearl breathes out a silent laughter, “The trick, dear Violet, is to only do a small amount of rooms at a time. That way it stays enjoyable. I don’t think I’ve seen all the rooms. I’m not even sure that’s the point.”

“Huh,” Violet says thoughtfully. No wonder she’s always found museums amazing in theory yet overwhelming and boring in reality. She’s never been let in on a secret like this before.

They wander about aimlessly until they reach the Piccadilly Circus end of Regent Street. People around them keep rushing, in and out of the tube station entrances and stores, and Pearl absentmindedly plants a guarding hand on the small of Violet’s back once again.

“Okay, this touristy stuff is fun and all, but I think I’m done now. Let’s head back. D’you wanna walk to Oxford Circus and take the tube from there?” she suggests.

For a very short moment Violet considers putting up an act, scrunching her nose contemplatively, faking to be seriously weighting Pearl’s proposition, but Pearl seems to be in one of those moods today, one where she wants Violet to act nice and willing and submissive, and behaving like a seductive tease will get Violet absolutely nowhere when Pearl gets like this. Violet doesn’t mind, though, is actually just happy to obey; nothing has been quite able to hold her attention long enough for her to forget the little hotel room incident from earlier, so she just nods.

Pearl is telling her a nonsensical story in which they were bound for Santiago but had to turn the plane around somewhere above Arkansas because a drunken passenger was being difficult when the window of the Godiva flagship store they’re passing catches Violet’s eye. She can see an employee dipping strawberries in melted chocolate, and it looks ridiculously delicious.

“Oh, Pearl, look at that!” she exclaims. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, what did you do in order to land the craft? I thought the tanks are supposed to be empty enough before it’s possible to touch down.”

“Uh, yeah, we had to circle JFK for a good fucking while to get rid of the fuel, it was a nightmare. I reckon it cost the guy a fortune,” Pearl says, but it’s clear she’s already distracted. “God I just love Godiva. Let’s go in?”

She guides Violet to the door and holds it open for her. The store isn’t too big nor particularly busy, and the scent that surrounds Violet instantly is heavenly, the air almost dripping with rich notes of chocolate. The lady behind the counter greets them warmly without interrupting her task of stirring the pool of melted chocolate in front of her.

“What do you want?” Pearl asks Violet. “My treat.”

“Pearl, this is all so expensive,” Violet hisses quietly so that no one else hears her.

“Have you ever had Godiva strawberries?” Pearl says instead of dignifying Violet with an answer.

Violet shakes her head, “Uh-uh, never. Shangie went all out and got me a box of their chocolates for my birthday this year, but that’s the only time I’ve had any.”

“They’re divine,” Pearl notes shortly before turning to the lady. “You still do strawberry boxes, right?”

“Sure do, ma’am,” the lady confirms. “Would you like them dipped in white, milk, or dark chocolate?”

“Can we get equal amount of each?” Pearl says.

The lady nods and fishes a box from somewhere behind the counter before starting the dipping and packing process. Violet stares in fascination as her hands move swiftly and with practised ease, while Pearl hugs her from behind and tucks her close to her chest, her fingers locked on Violet’s stomach. Violet rests her own palm on top of Pearl’s hands.

“How much money are you planning on wasting on me during this trip?” she says softly.

“It’s not a waste if I’m spending it on you,” Pearl murmurs.

“A distinction without a difference!” Violet argues, but there’s no real heat to her tone.

Pearl frees her fingers to pinch Violet lightly, “C’mon, we both know you pay way too much attention to detail to just be throwing words around carelessly.”

The silly thing is, Pearl is completely right. Violet knows exactly what she’s saying, knows exactly what connotations her word choices carry, has been aware of it for a very long time now. This is just the first time someone’s paid close enough attention to notice, the first time someone’s got close enough to make a comment like that.

She clears her throat and looks at the lady, “Do you get a lot of requests to hide a ring in the box?”

“Yes, ma’am, at least once a week. February is particularly busy, naturally, and Christmas, too,” the woman says.

“Violet!” Pearl gasps jokingly. “Are you thinking about hiding a ring in there? I’m flattered, but this is all so soon!”

“Pearl, you dork,” Violet sighs and the woman laughs, closing the lid of their now ready box and securing a tiny ribbon around it.

They exit the store shortly after that, and venture back to the hotel without stopping anywhere else. As soon as they’re in their room, Violet’s phone buzzes violently with notifications she’s missed while she wasn’t connected to Wi-Fi. She checks it; Aja has quintuple texted her, and Violet quickly reads the messages from the bottom up.

 **Aja Storms 5.21pm  
** W pearl right?

 **Aja Storms 5.21pm  
** LMAO why am i asking lol nvm

 **Aja Storms 5.47pm  
** Done bitch

 **Aja Storms 5.53pm  
** I’m like santa but pussy instead of gifts

 **Aja Storms 5.54pm  
** Hoe hoe hoe!!

Violet rolls her eyes with a  scoff that spills into a chuckle and throws her phone on the bed without replying.

*

They spend the rest of the layover in their hotel room, as if trying to get their fill of each other’s bodies before they’re separated for however long it is until their next flight together. Lately Violet has been growing more and more reluctant to go back to New York, back to the apartment. She doesn’t know why. Now she always gets agitated toward the end of each trip, more needy, more clingy, almost panicked. She hates it. Sometimes she thinks she can sense that Pearl is off, too, a little bit high-strung, a little bit anxious, but she’s concluded it’s just her projecting her own feelings that messes up her perception of reality.

They’re supposed to take the tube to Heathrow with the rest of the crew on the day of the departure, but Pearl calls it off last minute, texts Kameron that they’ll meet everyone at the briefing and phones the front desk of the hotel to schedule them a cab for much later. There’s close to no finesse in her movements as she fucks Violet, and afterwards she lies in Violet’s arms, her face hidden in the crook  of Violet’s neck and refuses to move. Violet has to physically force her up and out of the door.  It makes her uneasy when Pearl gets like that.

Pearl doesn’t talk to her during the ride, doesn’t even look at her, stares out of the car window. Her hands are resting in her lap, fingers twitching visibly; she’s itching for a cigarette, itching for the control wheel of the craft, itching to get away from Violet. It aches. Violet doesn’t say anything either. She doesn’t know how to say _I’ll miss you_ without making it sound like _I need you_. Before they enter the briefing, Pearl throws her at the wall next to the meeting room door, efficiently emptying her lungs of oxygen, and kisses her roughly. That aches, too. Violet ignores it.

During the meeting Violet realises it’s shifted again, like it always does. She never recognises the exact moment it does, but it always switches; one minute she’s terrified of their upcoming separation, frantically wishing time would just freeze, and the next she can’t wait for it to be done, counting down seconds, restless to land in New York and get it all over with.

Logically, breathing shouldn’t become easier in higher altitudes, but somehow it still does.

*

They land at JFK a bit past five, and Violet sees the passengers out at the rear exit of the craft, thanking them and asking them to fly NorthWest again on automat. When the cabin is empty, she makes her way to the front of the plane, where Brianna, Farrah, and Michelle are already fishing their  suitcases from the overhead compartment. She reaches them at the same time as Kameron emerges from the cockpit, Pearl promptly in tow. Kameron doesn’t wait before swiftly scooping Brianna in her arms, eliciting a gale of giggles. Pearl, on the other hand, falters just a tiny bit, her body language saturated with hesitation when her glance slides over Violet. For a second she looks like she’s about to say something, but then she just closes her mouth and shakes her head, as if trying to get rid of an annoying thought.

“First officer Liaison,” Violet greets her.

“Miss Chachki,” Pearl flatlines, curtly tipping her pilot’s hat, and brusquely turns on her heels to exit the craft.

Agnes is working the gate, and she waves at them with a happy smile. Pearl is leaning against the counter, expression blank and  unreadable as she keeps throwing a lighter up in the air and  catching it on a loop. She pockets the item and pushes herself off the desk when she hears them approach, and seems to be avoiding direct eye contact with anyone as she takes her place by Kameron’s side. Violet positions herself behind Michelle, parallel to Farrah, and tries to disregard the way the scarf around her neck is restricting her airway.

They break their prim V formation only once they’re on the landside. Farrah immediately runs off, undoubtedly to play a souvenir for Aja — Violet still doesn’t quite know what to do with this recently acquired information. Michelle pops on a pair of sunglasses, loudly chewing a piece of gum, and Violet resists the urge to roll her eyes and groan. They’re inside, for God’s sake, and it’s not even fucking light outside. What a pretentious asshole. She manages to bite her tongue long enough for Michelle to call her goodbyes and be on her way.

“Hey, Chachki, we’re getting coffee, come with? We can give you a lift to Manhattan after,” Kameron proposes. Pearl beside her is suddenly very busy examining her nails.

“Oh, no, thank you,” Violet says. “Shangie is picking me up today, she should be here any minute now.”

“Okay, suit yourself,” Kameron grins.

“I’ll see you Monday for Austin,” Brianna says.

Pearl still looks like her cuticles are far more interesting than anything that goes on around her.

“See you Monday, Brianna,” Violet echoes.

She stays where she is as the three of them grab their suitcases and watches them walk away. Kameron is holding Brianna’s hand, with Pearl on her left. She says something, and Pearl elbows her gently and laughs before slinging her arm around Kameron’s shoulders and bumping her hip against Kameron’s. Violet blinks aggressively, something bitter and suffocating prickling in the back of her throat nastily. She sinks her teeth in the same spot inside of her cheek until she can taste metal, and then she collects her own luggage and heads out of the airport building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m on tumblr as @rbcch ! Your feedback is what keeps me going .xx


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